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H 

I 

Gilt    Of 

Mrs.    William  Dinsmore 
Brlggs 

STANFORD 
UNIVERSITY 
LIBRARIES 

1 

u 

1 

1 

■ 

LIFE  AND   LETTERS 


OF 


GEORGE    BERKELEY,   D.D. 


FORMERLY   BISHOP   OF   CLOYNE. 


VOL.  IV. 


MACMILLAN    AND   CO. 


pUBLiaaxRS  TO  tbs  vKivERsirr  of 
0>(orft 


THE    WORKS 


07 


GEORGE  BERKELEY,  D.D. 


FOXIIEIILT   BUHOr  OP  djOYHBs 


IKCLUmNG 
MAinr    OW    HIS    WRITINGS    HITHERTO    UNPUmSflED. 


Wiik  Prefaces^  Amnoiaiiims, 
His  Life  and  LMers^  and  an  Aceauni  of  his  Pkitoso^^ 

BT 

ALEXANDER    CAMPBELL    ERASER,    M.A. 

PK0PBS90R     OP    LOGIC    AND     METAPHYSICS     IN    THB 
UNIVBHSITY    OP    BDINBUKCU. 


IN  FOUR    VOLUMES, 


Vol.  IV. 


AT    THE    CLARENDON    PRESS 

MJ)CCCLXXI  c»  q  j 

\^All  righti  reserved'] 


Ill 


764624 


#rwi^-^- 


LIFE    AND    LETTE 

OF  ' 

GEORGE    BERKELEY,  , 


AND  AN   ACCOUNT   OF   HIS    PHILOSOPHY. 

WITH     MAffY 

WRITINGS  OF   BISHOP   BERKELEY   HITHERTO   UNPl 
METAPHYSICAL,  DESCRIPTIVE,  THEOLOGIC 


ALEXANDER    CAMPBELL    ERASER,   M.A. 


^ 
% 


AT    THE    CLARENDON    PRESS 


M.DCCC.LXXI 


[Alt  rigb,,   «.<mrfl 


PRE  FACE. 


IT  is  curious  that  a  fife  so  good  and  beaidifid  m  its 
devotion  to  a  few  great  des^ns,  so  powerful  in  modem 
tbouj^t,  and  every  way  so  unoommon.  as  Bidiop 
Beriuk/s  should  have  been  allawed  by  his  oootcat^ 
pontries  to  pass  away  without  any  tolefafale  tnterpeta^ 
ticn  or  even  record  cf  it.  The  present  vohnne  does 
not  pretend  to  meet  the  want  wfaidi  die  I^pse  of  move 
than  a  hundred  years,  and  n^;lected  opportunities  have 
made  it  difficult  if  not  impos^Ue  to  sappfy. 

The  earliest  biographical  account  oi  BcAdey  known 
to  me  is  the  slight  and  inaccurate  dcetdi  iriiidi  appeared 
in  the  British  Plutarch  in   1762,  and  in  die  Ammal  - 
Register  in   the  following  year.     I  have  not  discovered 
by  whom  it  was  written. 

The  only  authentic  Life  we  have  is  that  by  Bishop 
Stock,  who  was  an  intimate  friend  of  the  family'.  It 
appeared  in  1776,  twenty-three  yqars  after  Berkeley's 
death.  It  was  re-published,  with  some  additional  notes, 
in  1780,  in  the  second  volume  of  the  Biographia 
Britannica.  A  second  edition  of  Stock's  memoir,  with 
appended  extracts  of  some  letters  from  Berkeley  to 
Thomas  Prior  and  to  Dean  Gervais,  appeared  in  1 784, 

'  Joseph  Stock,  D.D.,  was  bom  ihence  to  the  see  of  Waterford  in 

m  Dublin,  in  December  1741.    He  1810.     In  1798  the  French  landed 

became  a  Fellow  of  Trinity  College  at  KiUala  and  took  possession  of  the 

iboQt  1 765,  and  was  made  rector  of  bishop's  palace  and  person — events 

Conwall  in  1779,  vicar  of  Lusk  in  of  which  he  afterwards  published 

i78o,andrectorofDelgan}'ini788.  a  narrative.    Bishop  Stodt  died  at 

He  was  a  prebendary  of  Lismore  in  Waterford  in  1813.     Some  of  his 

1793-  In  1798  he  was  made  bishop  writings  are  mentioned  in  Cotton's 

oTKillala,  and  was  transferred  Irom  Fatli,  vol.  I.  p.  134. 


viii 


PREFACE. 


and  was  also  prefixed  to  the  first  collected  edition  of 
Berkeley's  Works,  published  in  that  year.  In  thafc^ 
edition  the  reader  is  informed  that  Stock's  biographical 
facts  were  for  the  most  part  communicated  by  Dr.  Robert 
Berkeley,  rector  of  Midleton,  near  Cloyne,  brother  to  the 
Bishop,  and  then  living.  This  brief  memoir  of  a  few 
pages  is  prefixed  to  all  the  collected  editions  of  Ber- 
keley. One  regrets  that  when  Dr.  Stock  had  so  good  an 
opportunity  for  collecting  and  authenticating  materials  he 
should  have  produced  so  faint  an  outline  of  Berkeley's 
history. 

A  few  facts  in  supplement  of  Stock,  authenticated  by  the 
Bishop's  widow  and  by  his  son  George,  are  contained  in 
'Addenda  and  Corrigenda'  in  the  third  volume  of  the  Bio- 
graphia  BHtannica,  which  appeared  in  1 784;  and  we  have 
a  few  anecdotes,  in  the  curious  Preface,  by  Bishop  Berke- 
ley's daughter-in-law,  to  the  Poems  of  his  grandson  George 
Monck  Berkeley,  published  in  1 797^  Mr.  Monck  Berkeley 
himself,  in  his  interesting  volume  of  Literary  Relics^,  pub- 


*  Poems  by  the  late  George  Monck 
Berkeley,  Esq.,  LLB.^F.S.SA,  With 
a  Preface  fy  the  Editor,  consisting 
of  some  A  mc dotes  of  Mr.  Monck 
Berkeley,  and  several  of  his  friends. 
London,  printed  by  J.  Nichols, 
1797.  The  editor  was  Monck 
Berkeley's  mother,  Mrs.  Eliza 
Berkeley,  widow  of  Bishop  Berke- 
ley's last  surviving  son,  Dr.  George 
Berkeley,  Prebendary  of  Canter- 
bury. She  was  accomplished  and 
pious,  not  without  acuteness  and 
wit,  but  eccentric  to  the  verge 
of  insanity.  Her  extraordinary 
Preface  occupies  630  pages  of  the 
handsome  quarto,  and  there  are 
besides  some  pages  of  Postscript. 
The  Poems  themselves  occupy  170 
pages.  The  book  is  very  rare. 
It  is  hardly  to  be  found  in  any  of 
our  public   libraries.      In    fact   it 


was  suppressed,  and  a  fire  at  Mr. 
Nichols'  warehouse,  I  believe,  after- 
wards destroyed  the  copies.  For 
an  account  of  this  singular  work, 
and  of  the  >vriter,  see  Gent.  Mag. 
vols.  LXVII.  pp.  403,  455,  and 
LXIX.  p.  565  ;  also  Nichols'  Liter- 
ary Anecdotes,  vol.  IX.  pp.  733 — 35. 
'  Literary  Relics,  by  George 
Monck  Berkeley,  Esq.,  LL.B.  in 
the  University  of  Dublin,  a  mem- 
ber of  St  Mary  Magdalen  Hall, 
Oxford,  and  of  the  Inner  Temple, 
London.  The  preface  is  dated, 
*  Dublin,  January  27,  1789.'  Re- 
ferring to  the  numerous  letters  from 
Berkeley  to  Prior  which  the  book 
contains,  the  writer  says : — *  Those 
of  Bishop  Berkeley  I  received  from 
my  friend  Mr.  Archdall,  the  learned 
author  of  the  Monasticon  Hiber- 
nicum,  dec.  From  these  letters,  some 


PREFACE.  ix 

bed  in  1789,  has  given  fully  many  of  Berkeley's  letters 
Thomas    Prior,  extracts   from    some   of  which   were 
►pended,  as  already  mentioned,  to  the  later  editions  of 
lock's  memoir. 

The  memoirs  of  Berkeley  in  Chalmers  and  elsewhere, 
well  as  the  biographical  accounts  of  him  in  the  dif- 
srent  histories  of  Philosophy,  Continental  and  British, 
founded  on  Stock,  and  very  much  copied  from  him. 
*rofessor  Archer  Butler  produced,  in  tlie  Dublin  Uni- 
'sify  Magazine,  in  1837,  an  eloquent  philosophical  in- 
apretation  of  Berkeley's  life  and  writings,  but  made 
Hmost  no  addition  to  the  previous  knowledge  of  the 
icts  of  his  personal  history.  Two  years  ago,  an  excellent 
^ipreciative  essay  on  Berkeley,  as  'the  philosopher'  of 
ifce  age  he  lived  in,  was  given  by  Mrs.  Oliphant,  in 
ker  Historical  Sketches  of  the  Reign  of  George  II. 

When  I  undertook  to  prepare  the  edition  of  the 
works  of  Berkeley  which  accompanies  this  volume, 
tod  which  is  published  under  the  auspices  of  the  Uni- 
fcrsity  of  Oxford,  it  seemed  almost  too  late  to  attempt  to 
tmcdy  the  loss  the  world  has  suffered  by  biographical 
egtcct  when  the  materials  were  fresh,  and  before  death 
taken  away  his  friends  and  associates.  It  was,  ac- 
Ordingly.  at  first  thought  that  any  account  of  the 
Uthor     that    might    be    associated     with     the     Works 

ist  be  ver)'  much  a  re-statement  of  what  Stock  had 
ffitten — perhaps  his  short  memoir  with  a  few  anno- 
uions.  Further  consideration  and  investigation,  how- 
Str,  led  to  the  formation  of  this  volume,  which  is  the 

iperfect  result  of  an  attempt,  thus  far  followed  out.  to 


I,  together  wilh  a  tnosl  im-  in    quarto.'    (p.  x.)      Mr.    Monck 

Feet  lire  of  the  wriCcT.  were  pub-  Berkeley  died  soon  after  the  pub- 

rf  by  Dr.  Stock  in  Dubliu,  and  licalion  of  ihe  LiUiary  Rtlus. 
Sled  to  the  Works  of  the  Bishop 


X  PREFACE. 

recover  all  that  immediately  concerns  Berkeley  which  the 
stream  of  time  has  not  carried  irrecoverably  away. 

The  Works  and  Letters  of  Berkeley  previously 
published,  together  with  Stock's  meagre  outline  of  facts, 
formed  my  starting-point. 

The  Letters,  as  it  seemed,  might  be  read  with  more 
interest  if  they  were  collected,  arranged  in  chronological 
order,  and  blended  with  the  Life,  with  an  annotation  now 
and  then.  The  largest,  and  probably  the  most  interest- 
ing, portion  of  Berkeley's  correspondence  has  I  fear 
gone  beyond  recovery.  His  letters  to  Thomas  Prior 
form  the  bulk  of  what  remains.  For  them  I  have  fol- 
lowed Monck  Berkeley's  edition,  in  his  Literary  Relict, 
amending  the  arrangement,  however,  and  supplementing 
what  is  given  there  by  a  few  additional  letters  to  Prior 
drawn  from  other  sources.  For  the  letters  to  Dean 
Gervais  I  have  had  no  resource  beyond  the  appendix 
to  Stock.  The  previously  published  letters  to  Pope 
I  have  collected  in  their  order,  but  have  failed  to  find 
any  not  hitherto  published,  or  to  discover  anywhere  any 
addressed  to  Swift,  Steele,  Addison,  Clarke,  Butler,  or 
others  among  the  brilliant  society  in  which  Berkeley 
moved  in  the  early  part  of  his  life.  Of  his  long  cor- 
respondence with  Samuel  Johnson,  his  American  disciple, 
I  have  recovered  several  letters — four  published  in  the 
Appendix  to  Chandler's  Life  of  yohnson,  and  for  the 
rest  I  am  indebted  to  Mr.  Oilman,  the  eminent 
librarian  of  Yale  College.  A  few  additional  letters,  and 
rough  drafts  of  letters  to  various  persons  have  been 
gathered  in  other  quarters.  It  is  possible  that  more 
may  still  be  found. 

By  far  the  most  important  original  material  connected 
with  Berkeley,  not  hitherto  given  to  the  world,  which  has 
been  disclosed  since  his  death,  has  been  made  availably 


PREFACE.  3d 


ht  this  volume,  througfa  the  Idndtiess  of  Archdeacon 
Jiose,  iriio  possesses  the  <»ily  known  collection  of  Ber* 
kd^s  manusdripts,  including  some  of  his  correspon- 

f  The  history  of  these  Papers  is  interesting.  After  Bishop 
fierkele/s  dteath  they  passed  into  the  hands  of  his  son^ 
I^.Oeorge  Berkeley,  vfho  died  in  1795.  In  1797,  Dr. 
Bcrkde/s  widow  writes  thus,  in  her  edition  of  her  son's 
Poems : — ^'The  Editor  has  several  stone  weight  of  papers 
^  Id  inqiect  of  Bishop  Berkele/s — his  Journal  when  in  Italy, 
9kl  && ;  of  Mr.  Qierry's ;  of  Archlushop  Sedcer^s ;  Miss 
Tadbot's;  Mr.  Monde  Berkeley's  ^'  After  the  death  of 
4m  dai^to'-in-kw,  and  the  &mily  cUssolution>  these 
Badtdey  Papers  were  lost  sight  of  for  a  while.  They 
ime  thus  referred  to  in  1812  by  Southey^: — ' Bisk(^ 
Merieley.  A  journal  of  his  travek  in  Italy,  and  many 
^dier  of  his  papers,  remain  unpublished.  His  grand- 
son, George  Monck  Berkeley,  had  he  lived,  would 
have  given  them  to  the  public.  I  know  not  what  is 
become  of  them  since  the  family  has  been  extinct,  but 
of  such  a  man  not  a  relick  should  be  lost.' 

The  family  of  Bishop  Berkeley  was  extinct  in  the 
early  part  of  this  century.  The  Berkeley  Papers 
referred  to  by  Mrs.  Berkeley  and  by  Southey  then 
came  into  the  possession  of  the  Grimston  family.  One 
member  of  that  ancient  and  honourable  family,  Henry 
Grimston,  Esq.,  of  Grimston  Hall  in  Yorkshire,  often 
mentioned  in  the  volume  of  Monck  Berkeley's  Poems,  is 
there  spoken  of  as  Monck's  *  chosen,  beloved,  and  bosom 
friend,'  *  his  unwearied  friend  to  his  latest  hour.'  Through 
the  Grimston  family  they  became  the  property  of  the  late 
Reverend  Hugh  James  Rose,  the  learned  and  eminent 
Principal  of  King's  College,  London.     After  his  death, 

*  Preface    to    Monck    Berkel^^  '  See  Southe/s  Omniana,  vol.  I. 

p-  dczxviiL  p.  251, 


xii  PREFACE. 

in  1838,  they  belonged  to  his  widow®,  who  eventually 
gave  them  to  his  brother,  the  Venerable  Henry  John 
Rose,  now  Archdeacon  of  Bedford,  who  has,  without 
reserve,  placed  them  at  the  disposal  of  the  Clarendon 
Press  for  publication  in  this  volume.  Those  of  them 
which  seemed  suitable  for  publication  occupy  here  more 
than  two  hundred  and  fifty  pages. 

The  Berkeley  Papers  consist  of  the  following  manu- 
scripts : — 

I.  Two  small  quarto  volumes. 

One  of  these  volumes  seems  to  have  formed  a  Common-  ^ 
place  Book  for  queries  and  other  occasional  thoughts  in  ] 
Metaphysics,  written  when   Berkeley  was  a  student  at : 
Trinity  College,   Dublin,  apparently  between  his  nine- 
teenth and  twenty-third  year,  and  before  he  had  published ' 
anything  in  philosophy.    This  curious  manuscript  volume 
contains  also  a  description  of  the  Cave  of  Dunmore,  in 
the  County  of  Kilkenny,  in  Berkeley's  handwriting.     I 
have  appended  the  Commonplace  Book  to  the  Life  a$ii 
Letters,  and  also  the   account   of  the   Dunmore  Cave. 
The  reader  must  remember  that  the  former  consists  of  j 
the  stray  speculations  of  one  hardly  beyond  the  years: 
of  boyhood,    set    down,    in    solitary    study,   as    private 
memoranda    for    further   consideration,    and    without   a 
thought  that  they  were  ever  to  meet  the  public  eye. 

The  companion  quarto  is  of  much  less  interest  It 
contains  what  seems  to  be  a  rough  draft  of  parts  of 
the  Discourse  on  Passive  Obedience ;  fragments  of  what 
was  perhaps  meant  for  a  sermon  on  the  text  *  Let  your 
zeal  be  according  to  knowledge;'  a  draft  of  the  Prin- 
ciples 0/  Human  Knowledge^  from  Sect  85  to  Sect  145, 

•  The  Berkeley  Papers,  when  in  the  Colonial  Church,  which  contains 

her  possession,  were  seen  by  the  an  interesting  chapter  (xxviii)  on 

Rev.  J.  S.  M.  Anderson,  and  they  Berkeley's  efforts  on  behalf  of  the 

are  referred  to  in  his  History  of  iDolonies. 


u-ly  = 


I  print ; 


PRKFACE. 


I  few  stray  thoughts  similar  to  tho; 


Commonplace  Book  ;  some  jottings  ot  what  may  be 
agraents  of  letters,  in  Latin  and  English,  written  ap- 
irently  at  Trinity  College.  Very  little  here  seemed 
ited  for  publication. 

2.  Four  small  volumes.  These  seem  to  have  been 
erkeley's  travelling  companions  in  Italy.  They  contain 
minute  account  of  what  he  saw  there  from  day  to  day, 
some  of  the  months  of  i  7 1 7,  and  during  a  short  period 
J  718.    They  are  perhaps  fragments  of  private  journals 

Cpt  during  his  stay  on  the  Continent  In  1715 — 20,  some 
[which,  it  is  said,  were  lost  at  sea.  Nearly  all  that  the 
ur  volumes  contain  is  now  offered  to  the  world. 

3.  Some  Sermons  preached  by  Berkeley  in  the  Chapel 
Trinity  College,  Dublin,  and  in  Leghorn  ;  Skeletons  of 
Smons  preached  in  Rhode  Island  ;  the  primary  Epi- 
opal  Charge  at  Cloyne  ;  and  a  Confirmation  Address, 

prm  another  portion  of  the  Berkeley    Papers.      All  of 
liese  which  seemed  in  a  state  to  admit  of  being  published 
given  in  this  volume. 

4.  The  Berkeley  Papers  likewise  include  a  number  of 
Stters  addressed  to  Bishop  Berkeley,  chiefly  by  Arch- 
■hop  Seeker,  when  he  was  Bishop  of  Bristol,  and  after- 

tJs  of  Oxford  ;  by  Benson.  Bishop  of  Gloucester ;  and 
Gibson,  Bishop  of  London.      We  have  also  a  long 

tter  from    Berkeley  to  Sir  John  James,  on  points  in 

xAogy.   one    or  two  letters  of  his  to  Thomas    Prior. 

well  as  some  rough  drafts  of  letters  to  other  corre- 
pondents,  and  of  portions  of  one  or  two  of  his  published 
prks.     All  of  these  which  seemed  proper  for  publica- 

n  have  been  incorporated  with  his  Li/c  and  Letters^ 

chronological  order. 

Almost  all  in  the  Berkeley  Papers  that  is  immediately 

hnected  with  Bishop  Berkeley  is  summed  up  under 
foregoing   heads.      The    remaining    portion    of  the 


xiv  PREFACE. 

manuscripts  consists  of  numerous  letters,  addressed 
mosdy  to  his  son  George,  or  to  his  son's  wife,  by  the 
Bishop's  widow,  or  by  Miss  Talbot,  Bishop  Home,  Bishop 
Gleig,  and  others.  Some  of  these  are  very  interesting,  but 
only  remotely  connected  with  the  subject  of  this  volume 

It  is  singular  that  so  large  an  amount  of  hitherto 
unpublished  manuscript  of  the  great  Bishop  Berkeley 
should  remain  to  be  given  to  the  world  nearly  a  hundred 
and  twenty  years  after  his  death.  It  may  be  truly  said 
that  this  large  collection  contains  nothing  that  is  not 
fitted  to  add  to  our  reverence  for  him  :  not  a  line  has 
been  found  that  is  at  variance  with  the  overflowing  purity 
and  charity  which  marked  his  life  ^. 

To  Archdeacon  Rose  the  world  is  indebted  not  only 
for  these  writings,  but  also  for  his  kind  co-operation  with 
me  in  the  superintendence  of  the  Italian  Journal  and  the 
Sermons  while  they  were  in  the  press,  as  well  as  for  his 
prefatory  notes  to  those  two  portions  of  the  Papers. 


While  these  Papers  have  supplied  the  largest  part  of 
the  new  matter  illustrative  of  Berkeley's  life  of  which 
I  have  been  able  to  avail  myself  in  this  volume,  many 
other  interesting  contributions  have  been  graduall) 
gathered  from  various  quarters. 

In  the  course  of  a  visit  to  Ireland  for  the  purpose,  and 
of  an  extensive  correspondence  with  various  persons 
there,  previously  and  since,  I  have  collected  curious 
and  valuable  particulars  of  Berkeley's  family,  birthplace, 
school  and  college  life  in  Ireland,  his  short  residence 
there  on  his  return  from  Italy,  and  his  eighteen  years 
afterwards  at  Cloyne.     It  is  singular,  however,  that  while 

^  Some  of  the  Papers  are  much  immersed  in  the  sea,  that  greai 
dilapidated,  and  in  some  places  so  care  and  a  strong  light  are  neces- 
obliterated,  as  if  the  MS.  had  been     sary  in  reading  them. 


PREFACE.  x^ 

fame  as  a  philosopher  has  spread  over  the  worlds  kxal 

about  him  have  mostly  perished  in  the  country 

his  iHrdi,  and  what  remains  camiot  tnom  be  traced 

amdi  laboar.    Where  I  am  indebted  to  so  many 

help,  in  collecting  and  interpreting  the  few  scattered 

it  is  difficult  to  name  any.    Yet  I  cannot  withhold 

ej^Mressoon  of  my  gratitude  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Reeves, 

learning  in  all  that  concerns  Ireland  is  widely 

;    the   Rev.   James   Graves,  the    eminent    Irish 

logist;  Richard  Caulfield,  LL.D.,  (rf*  Cork:  also 

die  Reverend  the  Provost  and  the  Fellows  of  Trinity 

Dublin.      I   am   much  indebted  to  the  Rev. 

Br.  Didcson,  the  librarian  of  Trinity  College.      And 

faave  to  thank  the  clergy  of  Ireland,  Protestant  and 

Catholic,  to  whom   I  have  been  led  tQ  apply^ 

their  uniform  courtesy  and  valued  help. 

I  r^^ret  that  notwithstanding  the  assistance  so  readily 

given  by  Sir  Bernard  Burke,  I  have  not  been  able  to 

dear    up    the    difficulties    connected    with    Berkeley's 

pedigree. 

The  kindness  of  many  distinguished  persons  in  Ame- 
rica has  enabled  me  to  throw  some  fresh  light  on  the 
romantic  and  charming  episode  of  Berkeley's  recluse  life 
in  Rhode  Island,  when  he  went  to  try  to  realize  the 
noblest  enterprise  in  Christian  missions  of  last  century, 
or  of  almost  any  century  since  the  Apostolic  age.  Here 
too  it  is  difficult  to  select  among  so  many,  but  I  wish  to 
express  in  some  degree  what  I  owe  to  the  kind  efforts  of 
Dr.  Porter,  the  distinguished  philosopher  of  Yale  College, 
and  Mr.  Gilman,  its  librarian ;  also  to  Mr.  Rowland 
Hazard,  of  Peacedale,  in  Rhode  Island,  who  now  culti- 
vates philosophy  in  the  vales  where  Berkeley  studied  ; 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Park  of  Andover,  and  the  Rev.  W.  E.  Park 
of  Lawrence,  Massachusetts ;  the  Hon.  J.  R.  Bartlett, 
Secretary  of  State,  Rhode  Island;  the  Rev.  Dr.  Beardsley, 


xvi  PREFACE. 

of  the  Episcopal  Church  at  Newhaven ;  Dr.  King  of 
Newport;  Mr.  Langdon  Sibley  of  Harvard  College ;  and 
Mr.  Samuel  Tyler  of  the  Maryland  Bar. 

To  the  Abb6  Rabbe,  the  Abb^  Blampignon,  and  the 
Baroness  Blaze  de  Bury,  I  am  indebted  for  assistance 
in  my  ineffectual  endeavours  to  throw  satisfactory  light 
upon  Berkeley  in  France,  and  in  his  personal  relations 
to  Malebranche. 

The  fruit  of  these  efforts  in  Ireland,  America,  and 
France  is  scanty.  But  one  felt  that  the  very  attempt  to 
penetrate  the  mystery  in  which  so  much  of  Berkeley's 
pure  and  beautiful  life  has  been  left  enveloped,  and  to 
rescue  from  oblivion  the  fast  diminishing  remains  which 
have  survived  the  ravages  of  time,  was  so  far  its  own 
reward.  Perhaps  the  publication  of  this  volume  may 
draw  out  some  more  facts  from  their  hiding-places.  To 
me  it  has  been  thus  far  a  pleasant  excursion  into  some 
of  the  dimly  discernible  society  of  that  olden  time — in 
Ireland,  England,  France,  Italy,  and  America — in  the 
days  of  William,  and  Anne,  and  the  first  two  Georges. 

In  the  last  chapter  of  the  '  Life  and  Letters,'  I  have 
tried  to  give  the  outcome  of  Berkeley's  intellectual  life 
as  a  whole,  touching  upon  some  of  its  implied  relations 
to  other  phases  of  our  national  philosophy  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  and  to  later  philosophy  looked  at 
from  Berkeley's  point  of  view. 


A.  C  ERASER. 


College  of  Edinburgh, 
February  y  1871. 


CONTENTS. 


LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  BERKELEY. 

CHAPTER  I. 
he  Btaktkf  Pimflj  m  Kflkemqr:— itSSfi-ijoo i 

CHAPTER  n. 
)MtT  College   Dnl^:     A  N«w  PhUosophicd   Prindple;  — 

1700-1713 15 

CHAPTER  in. 
^hnd,  France,  and  Italy: — 1713-ijai 54 

CHAPTER   IV. 
Bick   to    Ireland :     The    American    Enthusiasm :     In    London 

again,  and  letters  from  England: — 1711-1728     ...      9a 

CHAPTER   V. 
.\  Recluse  in  Rhode  Island: — 1728-1731 154 

CHAPTER   VI. 
B«k  to  London: — 1731-173* 191 

CHAPTER  Vl[. 
First  years  in  the  Irish  Diocese:  — 1734-1738 218 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
fliilanihropy.  Theology,  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne :  Tar-water : — 

'738-1752 261 

VOL.  IV.  b 


xviii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

PAM 

Oxford :  The  End :  The  Family  Dissolution : — 1752-1753      .     .     336 

CHAPTER  X. 
The  Philosophy  of  Berkeley. 

A.  Berkeley's  New  Question,  and  the  Essence  of  his  Answers 

to  it 36a 

B.  Berkeleian  Immediate  Perception  of  Extended  Sensible 

Reality 383 

C.  Berkeleian  Mediate  Perception,  or  Presxmiptive  Inference 

of  the  Existence  of  Sensible  Things  and  their  Rela- 
tions— illustrated  in  the  New  Theory  of  Vision  .     .     392 

D.  Berkeleian    Intellectual   Knowledge    of   Providential    or 

Divine  Reality  and  Universal  Conceptions  ....     402 


HITHERTO  UNPUBLISHED  WRITINGS   OF 

BISHOP   BERKELEY. 

Commonplace  Book  of  Occasional  Metaphysical  Thoughts      .  419 

Description  of  the  Cave  of  Dunmore 503 

Journal  of  a  Tour  in  Italy  in  17 17,  17 18 512 

Sermons  preached  in  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  and  at  Leghorn  .     .  598 

Skeletons  of  Sermons  preached  in  Rhode  Island 629 

Primary  Visitation  Charge  at  Cloyne 650 

Confirmation  Charge  at  Cloyne 657 


LIFE    AND    LETTERS. 


LIFE    AND    LETTERS 


I 


|GEORGE    BERKELEY,    D.JD. 

BISHOP  OF  CXOTNS. 


ERRATA    AND    ADDENDA. 

Pace  4,  Hue  ia,Jbr'ifeaceT'  nad'Sptaatt,' 

Page  6a,  L  3,  yir  '  Smahridge '  mi^ '  Snulridge.' 

nge  to7,  in  lirt  cf  snbacriptions  for  Bermuda,  Jbr  'Hntchinaoa*  nod 
' Hotdieaon ;'  also  on  p.  ijB,  L  }i,  and  note  }9,  L  i;  p.  ij9,  L  6. 
[Archibald  Hotcheson  was  of  the  Middle  Temple,  London,  and  M.P. 
for  Hastings.  He  published  in  1730  and  1731  various  treatises  relating 
to  the  South  Sea  scheme ;  also,  previously,  tracts  relating  to  the 
National  Debt.] 

Page  iS9i  note  7j  1-  'tfir  'Upside'  rtaJ  'Updike,' 

Page  >0l,  note  la,  i.  s,/Dr  'Ubiii  Sjlloge  nova  Efiit.'  read  '  Uhlii  Sjlhgt  nova 
Bpittolarum  •varii  argummti.'  [This  is  a  rare  work,  in  4  vols.  8vo.,  printed 
at  Nuremberg  in  1760-64,  The  writer  speaks  slightiagly  of  Berkeler's 
Nevi  Tbeotj  of  riiion,  as  well  as  of  Mcipbren,  both  of  which  had  been 
recommended  to  him.] 

Page  J  J  J,  note  3,  1.  s, /or 'Tyndal' rM^'Tindal." 


*e  nth  of  March,  1684,  that  he  received  the  first  part  of  hi, 
«du<aUon  at  Kilkenny  School,  under  Dr.  Hinton,  and  that  he 
»tered  Tr.n,ty  College,  Dublin,  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  exhausts 
tne  loionnation  thus  given. 

The  trtith  Is  that  almost  no  light  now  fills  upon  the  femily 
life  in  which  Berkeleys  first  revealed  itself.  What  his  parents 
were  ftom  whom  descended,  why  they  were  living  in  the  County 
of  Kilkenny  at  his  birth,  what  the  eiart  spot  of  his  birth  was  and 
^l-iv.  , 


LIFE    AND    LETTERS 


OF 


GEORGE    BERKELEY,    D.D. 


BISHOP  OF  CLOYNE. 


.    CHAPTER  I. 

THE  BERKELEY  FAMILY  IN  KILKENNY. 

1685 — 170a 

The  early  years  and  the  ancestry  of  George  Berkeley  are 
curiously  shrouded  in  mystery.  He  comes  forth  the  most  subtle 
and  accomplished  philosopher  of  his  time,  almost  from  darkness. 

The  dry  statements  of  the  biographers  may  be  soon  summed 
up.  They  tell  us  that  his  father,  William  Berkeley,  of  Thomas- 
town  in  the  County  of  Kilkenny,  was  the  son  of  an  English 
royalist  (somehow  connected  with  the  noble  family  of  Berkeley), 
who  was  rewarded  for  his  loyalty  to  Charles  I  by  a  collector- 
ship  at  Belfast  in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  Further,  that  the 
philosopher  was  bom  at  Kilcrin,  or  Killerin,  near  Thomastown,  on 
the  1 2th  of  March,  1684,  that  he  received  the  first  part  of  his 
education  at  Kilkenny  School,  under  Dr.  Hinton,  and  that  he 
entered  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  exhausts 
the  information  thus  given. 

The  truth  is  that  almost  no  light  now  falls  upon  the  family 
life  in  which  Berkeley's  first  revealed  itself.  What  his  parents 
were,  from  whom  descended,  why  they  were  living  in  the  County 
of  Kilkenny  at  his  birth^  what  the  exact  spot  of  his  birth  was,  and 

VpL.  IV.  B 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[Cttj 


what  thoughts  and  aspirations  the  boy  experienced  in  his  eazj^j 
years,  have  all  been  left  in  a  darkness  which  the  lapse  of 
makes  it  now  difficult  in  any  degree  to  remove. 

The  earliest  authentic  documents  about  Berkeley  which  I 
been  able  to  find  belong  to  the  places  in  which  he  was  edu 
The  first  is  in  the  curious  old  Register  of  the  Free  School  or  Col 
of  Kilkenny^.     On  a  page  in  that  part  of  this  Rosier 
contains  '  the  names  of  such  as  were  admitted  into  his  Grace 
Duke  of  Ormonde's  School  in  Kilkenny,  since  the  warre  ended 
Ireland,  in  the  year  1691,'  the  following  entry  may  be  seen : — 

*  George  Berkley',  gent,  aged  ii  years,  entered  the  Second  Class,  July  17,  l6j)6.' 

And  in  another  part  of  the  Book,  in  a  list  of  *  names  of  such 
as  left  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Ormonde's  School  at  Kilkenny  since 
October  the  first,  an.  dom.  1684,'  we  read: — 

*  Mr.  George  Berkley  left  the  First  Class,  January  1 700,  and  was  entered  the  Uiiivcnl(^| 

of  Dublin.' 

The  Register,  as  then  kept,  unfortunately  does  not  give 
names  and  residences  of  the  parents,  except  in  a  few  cases 
persons  of  rank.     The  boy  is  usually  designated  *gent.'  or  * 
man,'  according  to  his  father's  social  position. 

The  Register  of  Trinity  Collegej  Dublin,  contains  the  fbllowiflt] 
entry : — 


Anntu 

PttpUlus 

«8« 

Geo.  Berkley 

Martii,die  a  I. 

Pens. 

Parens 

A  etas 

Uhi  Natus 

Ubi  Educatus 

TWor 

Filius  Gulieli 

annum 

Natus 

Ibi  Educatus 

D^Jo. 

Berkley 

agens 

Kilkenniae. 

sub  D'* 

Han 

gen. 

H- 

Hinton. 

V.Pracp. 

Parish  registry  of  births  was  hardly  known  in  Ireland  before  titf- 
year  1800.  Any  original  record  (if  any)  of  Berkeley's  birth  or! 
baptism  has  been  lost.  But,  as  he  was  only  eleven  years  old  whet 
he  entered  school  at  Kilkenny,  in  July  1696,  and  only  fifteen  what 
he  matriculated  at  Trinity  College,  on  the  21st  of  Mardi  1700^ 
we  may  infer  that  j68|  was  the  year  of  his  birth.  On  the  au- 
thority of  the  biographers  I  assume  that  the  day  was  the  lath 
of  March. 

According  to  modern  style,  therefore,  Berkeley  was  bom  on 


*  The  Rev.  Dr.  Martin,  the  present  Head 
Master,  kindly  allowed  me  to  examine  this 
Register  at  Kilkenny,  in  May  1870. 

'  Here,  as  well  as  in  the  Trinity  College 
Register,  the  name  is  spelt  *  Berkley,'  as  it 


is  in  several  other  early  documents.  Indeed 
we  occasionally  find  *  Berkly '  and  *  Barldy' 
as  well.  Berkeley's  own  signature,  in  i7>I* 
and,  so  far  as  can  be  ascertained,  prevknoif 
and  sincp,  was  uniformly  *  Berkeley.* 


G 


The  BerkeUy  Famify  in  KiUefm^. 


March  1685*.  In  tiie  month  p-eceding  his  birth, 
lad.  passed  tfaraagh  his  last  hours  in  Whitehall,  and 
\  entering  on  his  short  and  disastrous  reign.  Before 
was  ended,  James  was  at  the  height  of  his  power,  and  the 
were  approaching  wiudi  ushered  in  tiie  reign  of 
i  Maiy  in  iralaiid. 


lliespol  in  the  County  of  Kilkenny  at  which  Berkeley  was  bom 
called  by  some  ^Kikrin,  near  Thomastown;'  ^Killerin,^  near 
same  place,  by  others. 
This  seons  to  be  a  mistake^  and  it  is  difficult  to  ex{dain  how 
originated.  In  the  first  place^  Kikrln  ox  Killerin  is  not  known 
'near  Tbomastown/  In  the  second  piacc^  tiie  uniform  and  vivid 
Itkm  of  all  that  country  points  to  Dysert  Castle  or  Tower,  on 
bank  of  tibe  Ncm,  about  two  miles  below  Thomastown^  and 
miles  below  Ihe  City  of  Kilkenny,  as  the  {dace  of  Berkdey^ 
In  tiie  third  place,  tins  tradition  is  confirmed  by  various 
in  the  Corpontion  Records  of  the  andent  town  of  Inis* 
I,  near  Dysert,  whidi  show  tiiat  Dysert  was  inhabited  by 
Berkeleys,  at  any  rate  in  the  early  part  of  last  century.  These 
Records  prove  that  ^Randolph  Berkely  de  Dysert,  gent./  was 
admitted  as  a  freeman  on  the  15th  of  April,  1728.  The  name 
^  Ralph  Berkeley'  also  appears  in  that  year,  and  in  1756.  There 
are  several  reasons  for  supposing  that  'Randolph'  and  'Ralph* 
refer  to  the  same  person,  which  is  important,  for  Berkeley,  as 
we  shall  see,  had  a  brother  named  Ralph.  It  is  a  pity  that  the 
Records  do  not  date  forther  back  than  171 7  :  if  earlier  ones  were 
ever  kept  they  have  been  lost 4.  In  the  fourth  place,  the  tradi- 
tion is  countenanced  by  the  high  local  authority  of  the  late 
Mr.  Tighe.  In  his  Statistical  Observations  relative  to  the  County  of 
Ejlkeuny  (p.  638),  published  in  1802,  he  says  that  'the  Castle  of 
Dysett  is  remarkable  for  having  been  the  birth-place  of  Bishop 


'  In  the  sequel  h  may  be  aisamed  by  the 
reader  that  the  dates  are  given,  so  ^r  as 
known,  according  to  the  New  Style.  (In 
some  of  my  annotations  upon  the  Works, 
I  inadTertently  followed  the  old  account  of 
the  year  of  Berkeley's  birth.) 

*  For  the  ficts  of  the  Inistiogue  Records, 
I  am  indebted  to  the  kindness  of  Colonel 
Tighe  of  Woodstock  and  Mr.  Connellan  of 


Coolmore.  The  family  of  Deaoe  as  well  as 
the  Berkeleys  are  prominent  in  these  Records. 
The  signatures  of  Deanes,  and  of  the  Rev. 
Maurice  Berkeley  (*  Maurice  Berkly,  Clerk') 
occur  often  between  1741  and  1753'  Mau- 
rice Berkeley  first  appears  in  1717*  ^^  2oi!ti 
December.  1756,  *  Ralph  Berkeley'  signs  as 
the  first  burgess  on  the  list.  This  is  the  last 
appearance  of  a  Berkeley  in  the  book. 


B  2 


4  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

Berkeley.'     Mr.  Tighe  died  in  1814,  at  an  advanced  age,  and 
might  have  known  those  who  knew  Berkeley's  father. 

A  tradition,  thus  confirmed,  may  perhaps  be  accepted  as  satis- 
factory evidence  that  Berkeley  was  born  at  Dysert,  in  the  absence 
of  direct  documentary  proofs 

This  old  monastic  ruin  is  in  one  of  the  loveliest  r^ons  in 
Ireland.     It  may  well  be  that  Berkeley  was  not  a  little  indebted   i 
for  his  deep-seated  love  of  nature  and  fervid  imagination  to  the   , 
sparkling  Nore^  and  to  a  childhood  spent  among  the  wooded  hilb   \ 
that  enfold  the  valley  through  which  it  flows.    The  position  of   ' 
the  graceful  ruin,  on  a  grassy  meadow  on  the  bank  of  the  river, 
under  the  wooded  hill-side  on  which  a  road  from  Thomastown  to 
Inistiogue   now  passes,  shows  at  once  to  the  eye  that  it  was' 
not  erected  as  a  stronghold.     It  was  originally  a  grange  which 
belonged   to  the  rich   priory  of  Kells,  and  was  given,  in  the 
sixteenth  century,  with  other  possessions  of  the  Abbey,  to  JameS| 
the  ninth  Earl  of  Ormond.     A  ruined  church  adjoins  the  tower  to 
the  east.     The  tower  itself  was  probably  inhabited  at  one  time 
by  the  vicar  of  the  monks. 

Some  comparatively  modern  remains  of  what  might  fbrmoly 
have  been  a  considerable  farm  house,  attached  to  the  Tower  oa  . 
the  south,  mark  the  site  of  the  modest  abode  of  the  Berkeleys 
of  Dysert.     The  family  inhabiting  the  house  must  also  have  oc-  J 
cupied  the  Keep,  and  from  the  two  windows  of  its  upper  chamber  | 
they  had  within  their  view  a  charming  scene.     One  can  hardly 
picture  a  place  more  suited  to  nourish  the  heart  of  the  boy  bjf 
communion  with  nature,  than  this  now  classic  part  of  the  fiEur 
vale  through  which  the  Nore  descends  from  the  city  of  Kilkenny 
and  Thomastown,  through  Inistiogue  and  amidst  the  foliage  of  \ 
Woodstock,  to  its  junction  with  the  Barrow  above  New  Ro» 
The  river  itself  is  one  of  the  three  ^renowned  brethren*  to  whidi 
Spencer  conducts  us : — 

*  The  first,  the  gentle  Shure  that,  making  way 
By  iweet  Clonmel,  adorns  rich  Waterford ; 
The  next,  the  stubboroe  Newre,  whose  waten  gray. 
By  fair  Kilkenny  and  Rossponte  boord; 
The  third,  the  goodly  Barow.* 

*  How  Kilcrin,  or  Killerin,  came  to  be  asso-  arctueological  friend  suggests  to  me  eiy* 
ciated  with  the  birth-place  of  Berkeley  it  is  mological  affinities  between  Kilerin  and  Dj** 
difficult  to  say.    An  ingenious  and  eminent      sert — the  last  a  name  common  in  Ireland.       1 


1  Tfu  Bcrkiley  Family  in  Kilkenny.  5 

The  peasantry  of  Kilkenny  have  had  their  quaint  stories  of  the 
Berkelcys  of  Dj-scrt.  With  an  inversion  of  facts  not  uncommon 
in  Irish  traditions,  thc>-  would  tell  that  in  his  youth  the  philosojAer 
kpt  a  school  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  taught  his  scholars  that 
ftcre  was  no  spirit,  but  that  when  the  body  died  the  man  was 
KuithiUtcid.  He  used,  they  added,  to  moke  the  boys  leap  over  the 
idxiol  benches  till  they  were  bruised  and  bled,  and  then  explain 
jhai  after  the  blood  all  ran  out  there  was  an  end  of  them.  Another 
',  equally  absurd,  was  that  Berkeley's  own  corporeal  remains 
•ere  buried  within  the  masonry  of  the  battlements  of  Dysert*. 

Thus  the  family  of  William  Berkeley  may  be  imagined  in  the 

modest  abode  attached  to  Dysert  Castle,  in  the  vale  of  the  Nore, 

fa  March,  i6tfj.     But  who  and  what  was  this  William  Berkeley, 

nd  why  then   living   there  ?     Bishop  Stock,   who   professes   to 

fare  got  much  of  the  material  in  his  brief  biographical  outline 

ton  Elcrkclcy's  brother  Robert,  says,  that  William's  father '  went 

to  Irel^id,  after  the  Restoration  (the  family  having  suffered 

pcatly  for  their  loyalty  to  Charles  I],  and  there  obtained   the 

nUcctoiship  of  Belfast.'   In  a  note,  in  Wright's  edition,  it  is  added 

he  went  over '  in  the  suite  of  his  reputed  father.  Lord  Berkeley 

if  Stratton,  who  had  been  appointed  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland.' 

Lccording  to  this   addition  to  the  story,  our   Kilkenny  branch 

the  great  Berkeley  family  must  have  gone  to  Ireland  in  1670; 

r  it  was  in  April  of  that  year  that  the  first  Lord  Berkeley  of 

latton  landed  to  assume  the  Lord  Lieutenancy,  an  office  which 

bcltl  till  April,  1671.      As  to  the  Bellast  collectorship,  it  is 

Drthy  of  note  that  until  itfjt  Carrickfergus  was  tlic  head-quarters 

tiie  icvcnue  in  those  parts.    Belfast,  then  an  insignificant  place, 

not  tnctttioned  at  all  in  the  Records  till  that  year.     The  first 

dcaowledgment  of  Belfast  as  a  revenue  town  coincides,  indeed, 

Vith  the  period  of  Lord  BerketeyofStratton's  rule  in  Ireland.    But 

tbe  name  of  Berkeley  has  not  been  found  in  the  lists  of  Belfast 

itrenue  officials  at  that  time.     A   recent  carefiji  search   in  the 

.Record  Oifice,  Dublin',  has  failed  to  discover  a  Berkeley,  at  or 

bhnt  1670,  employed  as  a  collector  of  any  branch  of  the  revenue, 

■  '  far  Xnii  and  Oonwn  q^ov  Cmaay.      ditioni  in  Iidand. 

^  Uf.  Piia  tt  ElkcoDy.     I  hare  moie  <  Kindly  nude  by  Simucl  FngUKn,  LLD., 

■M  tno  tgco«aHr«J  thtM  whinuicil  ira-       Public  Record  OIIkc.  \it\i\ii. 


6  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch 

either  in  Belfast  or  in  any  part  of  Ulster.  And  it  is  rathe 
difEcult  to  reconcile  with  ascertained  chronological  facts  the  un 
supported  assertion  that  the  supposed  grandfether-collector  was ; 
natural  son  of  the  first  Lord  Berkeley  of  Stratton.  That  noble 
man  was  born  about  1608,  and  it  is  not  obvious  to  suppose,  ii 
the  absence  of  positive  evidence,  that  he  was  the  great-grandfathe 
of  the  philosopher,  born  in  1685.  That  Berkeley's  family  wa 
originally  from  Berkeley  Castle  need  not,  however,  be  doubted 
nor  that  it  was  more  immediately  connected  with  the  Berkeley 
of  Stratton.  He  was  afterwards  introduced  by  Swifl  to  th 
representative  of  the  Stratton  Berkeleys  as  a  kinsman,  and  also  t« 
Earl  Berkeley,  as  related  to  the  family ".  And  his  femily  is  else 
where  mentioned  as  a  younger  branch  of  the  Earls  of  Berkeley. 

The  garrulous  writer  of  the  rambling  Preface  ^  to  Monck  Berkcle/i 
Poems  speaks  of  Ireland  as  only  *  accidentally*  the  country  of  th 
philosopher  Berkeley,  his  father  and  all  his  ancestors  having  been 
born  in  England  ^^.  '  His  grandfather,'  she  adds, '  expended  a  larp 
fortune  in  the  service  of  king  Charles  I,  and  in  remitting  monq 
to  king  Charles  II  and  his  brothers.  The  only  return  was  makiD| 
his  son,  the  bishop's  father ^^,  collector  of  the  port  of  ii 

Ireland,  a  more  respectable  post  than  in  England,  noblemen's  son 
often  accepting  it.  This  occasioned  the  old  gentleman's  leaving  hi 
malediction  on  any  descendant  of  his  who  should  ever  in  any  wa 
assist  any  monarch.'  That  an  English  Cavalier  in  the  seventeent 
century  should  devote  his  fortune  to  the  first  Charles,  and  b 
requited  with  ingratitude  by  the  second  Charles— that  till  the  kin 
was  again  in  danger  the  injured  Cavalier  should  grumble  at  th 
king's  ingratitude — all  this  was  not  uncommon  in  those  days,  an 
with  this  the  reader  may  take  what  satisfaction  he  can  in  tk 
glimpse  of  the  Berkeley  family  and  their  history  that  is  thus  ofiere 
in  the  eccentric  Preface. 

We  know,  at  any  rate,  in  a  general  way,  that  the  condition  ( 
Ireland  after  the  Restoration  aflForded  openings  of  which  loyalv 
adventurers  of  small  fortune  and  good  family  in  England  the 


'  Swift  is  said  to  have  introduced  him  in  ^^  It  may  be  remarked  that  in  the 

this  characteristic  way:  'My  lord,  here  is  (sect.  91,  92)   Berkeley  speaks  of  hunsi 

a  young  gentleman  of  your  family.     I  can  rather  as  if  ranking  his  people  unoog  tl 

assure  your  lordship  it  is  a  much  greater  English. 

honour  to  you  to  be  related  to  him,  than  to  "  Not  grandfather,  but  foAer^  accocdb 

'him  to  be  related  to  you.'  to  this  account. 

'  p.  ccclxxzii. 


Berkeley  Family  in  Kilkenny. 

themselves  in  considerable  numbers.  In  1662  an  Act  was  1 
:*for  encouraging  Protestant  strangers  and  others  to  inhabit 
Jiant  in  the  Kingdom  of  Ireland,'  A  Commission  of  In- 
quiry, issued  in  the  same  year,  'with  instructions  concerning  the 
regicides  in  Ireland,'  included  the  name  of  Sir  Maurice  Berkeley, 
one  of  the  brothers  of  Lord  Berkeley  of  Stralton'^.  Sir  Charles 
Berkeley,  their  elder  brother,  who  became  Viscount  Fitzhardingc 
in  1665,  and  died  in  1688,  filled  several  important  offices  in  Ire- 
land, and,  for  the  steadfastness  of  his  loyalty,  was  rewarded  after 
the  Restoration  with  grants  of  lands  in  the  counties  of  Wicklow, 
Carlow,  and  Kilkenny.  His  position  in  Ireland  induced  some  of 
his  relations  to  settle  there,  amongst  them  the  ancestors  of  the 
Berkcleys  of  Skark  in  Wexford. 

Sir  Maurice  Berkeley  himself  has  been  claimed  as  the  grand-  , 
&ther  of  the  philosopher,  and  as  the  common  ancestor  of  the 
Bcrkeieys  of  Dysert  and  the  Berkelcys  of  Skark.  This,  though  in 
some  respects  fully  as  likely  as  the  Berkeley  of  Stratton  story,  I 
have,  as  little  as  the  other,  been  able  to  verify  by  documentary 
evidence'''. 

Our  Dysert  Berkeleys,  then,  may  have  made  their  way  to  the 
vale  of  the  Nore,  as  one  of  many  families  of  English  colonists  or 
adventurers,  who,  in  the  quarter  of  a  century  preceding  Berkeley's 
birth,  were  finding  permanent  or  temporary  settlements  in  that 
and  other  parts  of  Ireland.  It  does  not  seem  however  that  they 
had  any  firm  holding  in  their  adopted  country.  They  appear 
indeed  in  the  Inistiogue  corporation,  but  there  is  no  mention  of 
them  in  various  records  in  which  the  names  of  holders  of  land, 
officials   of  consideration  might  be  expected  to  occur.     The 


"  Tlwie  f>cu  ire  recndcd  in  the  LiUr 
vitnm  Publieorum  Hibtmia. 
■  Sir  MiDrioe  Beikdcy.  hii  of  Sir  lianj 
'^~''  :y  til  Bruftni  (descended.  Ihruugh  Sir 
i  at  S«^e  Oillbrd  in  the  County  of 
yaanget  ion  of  Miurice 
dcjr.  who  diediD  1316),  bid  five 

If  ttioe  Sir  Chirlci.  ibc  eideti,  <rho 

It  VilConM  t'ilihinlinge,  died  vrithoDt 
^mm  Imoc,  wbcD  hii  title  becime  extiucl. 
A  joaagB  uHi.  Sii  Jubn  Bukeley,  wu  in 
I65S  <Teitcd    Lord   BetkiJey  of   Stnnon. 

■-■toil  in  1670.     lit  died  JD  1G7S.    Thii 
!  too  twonic  exiini-l.  in  dcrault  of  mile 
t,  hi  ijjl.     The  other  three  loni  were 
IjSii  tiwnty.  Sir  WiUiim  (the  eccmtiic  go- 


Tcmui  of  Virginia),  and  Sii  Maurice  above 

Mjuri™  Beikeley,  who  in  r6ai  wai  pot 
in  potseuion  of  tlie  liiids  of  Slcark,  utar 
New  Rosi.  in  the  County  of  Wiifetd.itMid 
10  have  been  a  (on  of  thii  Sir  Maurice;  itid 
Wiltiim  Berkeley,  the  falber  of  the  philo- 
sopher, it  is  suggeiled.  may  have  been  in- 
other  ion,  IcDiporuily  tettled  about  the 
lame  lime  in  the  County  of  Kilkenny. 
Colonel  Berkeley,  the  grandEon  of  thi* 
Maurice,  and  ion  of  the  Rev.  Maurice 
Berkeley  of  Skark.  bequeathed  Ihe  bndi  of 
Skaik  10  hii  coniin  Joseph  Dcane,  who  iben  | 
called  the  place  Berkeley  Foreit.  ThcM 
are  probably  Ihe  'Deanct'  and  lhe'Mauric«.  I 
Beikly.  Clerk'  of  the  l.iisliogue  Recordi 


8 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


symptoms  suggest  that  they  were  not  wealthy,  but  still  recognised 
as  of  gentle  birth  ^*. 

In  the  successive  matriculation  records  of  William  Berkeley^ 
sons,  in  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  he  is  variously  described  as  ^gim- 
rosus  (as  already  mentioned)  in  the  case  of  George,  in  1700; 
^vexil.  equestris*  (comet),  when  his  son  Robert  matriculated,  in 
1716  J  and  ^dux  militum^  (captain  of  horse),  when  his  son  Thomas 
was  enrolled,  in  1721.  The  facts  may  have  been  that  he  was  at 
one  time,  as  tradition  affirms,  an  officer  of  customs,  and  that  he 
afterwards  engaged  in  military  service". 

Nothing  perfectly  trustworthy  is  recorded  of  Berkeley's  mother. 
She  was  probably  Irish.  In  the  gossiping  Preface  *•  already 
quoted,  we  are  told  that  she  was  ^aunt  to  old  General  Wolfe, 
father  of  the  famous  general  of  that  name* — the  Quebec  hera 
That  there  was  a  connection  between  the  Berkeleys  and  the 
Wolfes  is  not  without  other  circumstantial  evidence,  as  we  shall 
see;  and  the  Wolfes  were  of  Irish  connection.  I  have  not 
found  any  confirmation  of  another  assertion  of  this  lady — ^that 
Berkeley  was  *  nephew  to  Archbishop  Usher,  as  well  as  his 
cousin-german  General  Wolfe.'    She  also  tells  us  that  the  philo- 


^*  The  number  of  untitled  Berkeleys  in 
different  parts  of  Ireland,  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  was  considerable,  and  the  history  of 
their  connection  with  the  heads  of  the  family 
in  England  is  in  most  cases  obscure.  Berke- 
leys had  estates  in  the  County  of  Carlow  in 
the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries. 
Viscount  Fitzhardinge  had  a  grant  of  land 
in  that  county  in  1666,  under  the  Act  of 
Settlement.  A  *  Henry  Berkeley '  was  named 
a  burgess  of  Carlow,  in  the  charter  granted 
to  the  town  in  1675  by  Charles  II;  the 
same  name  appears  in  the  charter  granted 
to  the  same  town  by  James  II  in  1689. 
•  Dr.  Henry  Berkeley*  was  one  of  the  Jus- 
tices of  Peace  in  County  Carlow,  appointed 
by  William  and  Mary,  in  July,  1690.  Digby 
lierkeley  served  as  High  Sheriff  of  the  county 
in  1 707.  Berkeleys  were  settled  in  Wexford 
in  Uie  seventeenth  century.  In  the  same 
century  there  was  a  Rowland  Berkeley  of 
Kelmerix  in  the  County  of  Tipperary.  In 
the  early  part  of  the  century  a  Berkeley  is 
placed  in  Ireland,  by  the  following  pedigree 
in  the  Herald's  College  in  London,  pointed 
out  to  me  by  Sir  Albert  Woods : — *  John 
Berkeley,  Mayor  of  Hereford,  in  the  reign 
of  Queen  Elizabeth,  son  of  Richard  Berkeley 


of  Dursley,  son  of  Richard  also  of  Dnrsley, 
son  of  Thomas,  brother  of  Maurice  Lord 
Berkeley  (in  Henry  VII) ;  had  a  ton  WiUiam, 
who  married  the  daughter  of  Burghill,  whote 
son,  William  Berkeley,  is  now  (cir.  1635) 
living  in  Ireland.' 

^  The  register  of  Trinity  Col!^^  seems 
almost  to  imply  that  the  hxmXy  removed 
from  the  Nore  and  the  County  of  Kilkemij 
into  the  County  of  Tipperary  some  time 
after  the  birth  of  the  philosopher.  The 
matriculation  entry  of  Robert  bean  that 
he  was  bom  'near  Thuries,'  about  1699; 
that  of  Thomas,  who  seems  to  have  been 
the  youngest  son,  that  he  too  was  bom  in 
the  County  of  Tipperary  about  1703. 
(Robert  was  educated  at  Kilkenny,  under 
Dr.  Dagrell,  and  Thomas  at  Dublin,  under 
Mr.  Sheridan.  This  Sheridan  was  probably 
Swift's  friend,  who  kept  a  school  of  high 
repute  in  Dublin  about  that  time.)  I  find 
no  clue  to  the  Tipperary  movement.  The 
•Will  Pedigrees'  in  Ulster's  Office,  Dublin, 
give  a  Rowland  Berkeley  in  Tipperary 
(Will  dated  1706),  which  proves  some 
Berkeley  connection  in  that  quarter. 

"  p.  ccccxcviii. 


^^H     Tfu  Berkeley  Family  in  Kilkenny.  9 

^»et%  father  and  mother  '  both  died  in  the  same  week,  and 
re  interred  at  the  same  time,  in  the  same  grave."  It  cannot 
said,'  she  adds,  *  that  they  died  an  untimely  death  j  both  being 
IT  ninety.  They  lived  to  breed  up  six  sons  gentlemen.  They 
rd  to  see  their  eldest  son  a  bishop  some   years  before  their 

If  all  tliis  is  true,  they  must  bave  lived  almost  till  1740. 
Leaving  the  ancestry,  and  inquiring  about  the  descendants,  we 
id,  from  various  sources,  that  William  Berkeley  had  six  sons,  and 
Dbably  one  daughter.     The  six  sons,  whom  the  parents  '  lived 
I  breed  up  gentlemen,'  were : — 

I.  George,  born  (as  already  mentioned)  March  12,  1685.     He 

seems  to  have  been  the  eldest. 
1.  Rowland,  'of  Newmarket,  Co,  Cork,'  according  to  the 
Will  Pedigrees  in  Ulster's  Office.     His  Will  is  dated 
May  5,  1 757.     Of  his  history  I  have  no  trace. 

3.  Ralph,  according  to  the  same  authority, '  of  Scarteen,  near 

Newmarket,  Co.  Cork,'  Will  proved  1778.  ('Ralph 
Berkeley,'  as  already  mentioned,  appears  in  the  In- 
istiogue  Record  in  1728,  and  in  1756.)  Ralph  married 
'  Anne  Hobson.'  A  son,  William,  and  a  daughter, 
Elizabeth,  were  the  issue  of  this  marriage.  The  daughter 
married  the  Rev.  Edward  Kippax,  Vicar  of  Cionfert, 
near  Newmarket.  They  had  two  sons,  George  and 
Charles  Berkeley,  and  two  daughters,  Mary  and  Anne. 
Charles  Berkeley  Kippax  was  clerk  in  the  chief  secre- 
tary's office,  Dublin  Castle,  and  corresponded  with 
Lord  Comwallis  in  1798''. 

4.  William,  afterwards  a  commissioned  officer  in  the  army, 

of  whom  it  is  recorded,  in  the  same  'Pedigrees,'  that 

he  married  'Anne,'  and  that  three  daughters,  Anne, 

Elizabeth,  and  Eleanor,  were  the  issue  of  the  marriage  '**. 

^^^^ibert,  born  about  i'i99,  'near  Thurles'  (as  already  men- 

^^^B  tioned),  afterwards  Rector  of  Midleton,   and  Vicar- 

^^^H   General  of  Cloyne,  died  in  1787.     Of  htm  afterwards. 

^^^Blomas,   regarding   whom  the   Dublin   College  Register 

exhausts  the  information,  was  born  in  the  County  of 

"  OriataHu    CorrtipoaiUnci,    Tol.     iii. 
"  In  ihi  I'fcfMc  W  Moluk  Uetkeley  (p. 


daughlen.  ill  twiiii 


d  that  William  had  Una 


lo  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

Tipperary  about  1704,  and  entered  Trinity  College 
in  1721. 

Of  the  daughter  I  have  no  distinct  account.  Ber- 
keley alludes  to  a  ^  sister*  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Prior, 
written  in  1744- 

Berkeley's  Common-place  Book,  that  precious  record  of  his 
thoughts  in  his  early  years  at  College,  reveals  this  much  about 
his  inner  child-life  in  the  Kilkenny  valley,  among  these  domestic 
surroundings : — 

*  From  my  childhood  I  had  an  unaccountable  turn  of  thought  that  way. 
Mtm.  That  I  was  distrustful  at  8  years  old,  and  consequently  by  nature  disposed  for  these 
new  doctrines.' 

It  is  not  probable  that  Berkeley's  dawning  speculative  reason 
and  imagination  met  with  much  sympathy  in  the  family  circle ; 
though  an  even  eccentric  individuality,  and  much  chivalry,  may 
be  traced  among  his  reputed  ancestry^®.  His  parents  have  left 
no  discernible  mark.  In  the  glimpses  we  have  of  any  of  his 
brothers  we  do  not  detect  symptoms  of  community  of  spirit  with 
one  born  to  be  a  philosopher  in  thought  and  action.  On  the  con- 
trary, Berkeley  could  hardly  have  been  intelligible  to  the  family, 
we  should  fancy,  fix)m  what  we  hear  of  them. 

The  imagination  of  the  precocious  child  might,  however,  have 
been  disturbed  by  the  circumstances  of  the  time,  if  his  singular 
intellect  was  little  quickened  by  family  sympathy.  The  ^  warre  in 
Ireland'  was  going  on  whilst  he  was  advancing  from  his  fourth 
to  his  sixth  year.  He  had  not  reached  his  sixth  year  when  the 
battle  of  the  Boyne  was  fought;  and  we  may  imagine  him  at 
Dysert  on  those  now  long  past  days  when  James  made  his  rapid 
retreat  to  Waterford,  or  when  William  of  Orange  was  receiving 
the  hospitality  which  could  be  given  at  such  a  time  in  the  ancient 
castle  of  the  Butlers  at  Kilkenny.  We  may  picture  the  Berkeley 
family  in  the  neighbourhood  when  James,  soon  followed  by 
William,  hu  ried  down  the  valley  of  the  Nore. 


But  we  must  return  from  excursions  of  fancy  to  the  Kilkenny 

^'  Recorded  anecdotes  show  that  the  his-       have  had  its  effect  upon  the  imagination  of 
tory  of  the  noble  house  of  Berkeley  may       the  philosopher. 


The  BerkiUy  Family  in  Kilkenny. 


:hool,  and  to  the  Register*"  which  records  the  simple  fact  of  ! 
rkctcy's  appearance  there  on  a  summer  day  in  1696,  when  he 
IS  placcrd  in  the  Second  Class.  That  he  was  placed  so  high  is 
nnorkablc.  The  lowest  class  at  that  time  was  the  Fifth.  '  One  is 
ispoecd  to  interpret  as  a  sign  of  unusual  precocity  the  feet,  that 
boy,  entering  school  at  the  age  of  eleven,  was  considered  tit 
this  advanced  place.  The  old  Register  contains  almost  no 
parallel  instance^'. 

The  page  on  which  the  name  of  'George  Berkley'  occurs  con- 
tains a  list  of  long-forgotten  names — his  school  companions  in 
the  old  school.  But  the  following  entries  refer  to  one  who  must 
Fcmain  associated  with  Berkeley's  history,  as  long  as  his  life  is 
kqit  in  distinct  remembrance : — 

oui  Pijor,  £«U ,  aged  15  ;on,  entered  the  Third  Cliu.  Jan.  11,  id.  dom.  \fi^y 
,    .     '  Mr.  Thoniu  Pij'oi  lef)  the  Secani)  Cliii,  Apiil  i6gg.  and  was  entered  in  the 

tUwiv  or  Dublin.- 

ft  has  escaped  the  biographers  of  Berkeley  that  his  life-long 
intimacy  with  Thomas  Prior^^  of  Rathdowney,  the  'dear  Tom* 
of  Jo  many  letters,  commenced  at  Kilkenny  School.  Berkeley 
there  in  the  summer  of  169(5,  and  Thomas  Prior  crossed  the 


JOaflta.  1084,  on  ohicb  da^  twenlv  boji 
^^  ■  The  le^orgaoiialuin  of  the  Scbooi 
RtteacalHin  o(  Ctutla  It  mnit 
1  a  good  manj'  jctn  eitliet.  Dr. 
ana  (■ftenraidi  Dan  of  Liiiaore. 
Df>  oflSojrtw  in  1683I.  wu  Hod 
DOi  1670  bi  t68a ;  and  Dt,  Henry 
SUa  (aAvTwodd  Ar^hd^tacouof  Oawry.  and 
K^  of  KiUaloe  io  1693).  from  16S0  to 
rtif  Ttw  RqtkKT  comnunca  vhtn  Dr. 
^imml  UkMoo  vu  xpfnlnted  in  1664.  It 
h  BMkaed  (Tilbout  luMnuplion  till  Julj 
U  >M.  *Aci  "hich  a  latiaa  of  oeaHr 
(■■  Tan  occnn,  during  which  time  ilic 
U>i<  KdM  ts  hire  beat  iliDI  Dp.  Ftom 
.V^f.  1691,  the  wiia  of  eoUH  ii  com- 
MliB  Aagnat  6.  1716. 

*  TV  Sdwcit  *rat  rc4pcncd  after  the 
*■  n  llr*  »oth  of  January,  1G91,  Inur 
^W  aid  *  half  before  Dnkdef  entered 
^  Sn(nlT.tw  boyi  |a>aed  in  Ihu  inlcml. 
^  iBfcricjr'i  lame  i>  the  feteoij-lhlrd  in 
<hbL  OTalllbai.ai  veil  ai  the  olben  who 
tOI  iba  dow  of  the  earturji,  Berkeley 
'  iIk  facood  ClaH  at  the  early 


rjsL*- 


the  lame  age,  were  placed  in  one  of  the 
junior  clut^  Betkeley't  me  u  in  fad 
unique  in  the  eailv  biitoty  of  Kilkenny 
School. 

"  Prior  ii  (pelt  ■  Pryor'  in  the  Regitter. 
The  Piioit  of  Ralhdowaej  were  of  iome 
CDmidenlion  in  that  pan  of  ihe  country. 
Grainii  of  laoda  were  made  to  ibem  won 
alter  the  Retloration.  The  bmily,  I  belieTC, 
ii  DOW  extinct.  In  the  liiter  pail  of  latt 
cenlorj,  Andrew  Prior  of  Ratbdowuey  mat- 
ried  a  liiter  of  the  (irtt  Lord  Franklort. 

Thomaj  Prior.  Betkeley"!  ftiend.  WJi  bom 
abODl  168].  We  are  indebted  to  hit  care 
for  The  grealer  pari  of  Berkeley'!  now  eilant 
correipondeoce.  He  wu  of)  delicate  eon- 
nitution,  and  did  not  enter  any  profcnion. 
To  promote  the  happintH  of  hii  counlry 
and  hit  Eiicadi  wai  Ihe  object  of  hit  hiic. 
He  wai  one  of  the  faunden  (in  June  1731) 
□f  the  DaUin  Society,  in  which  he  long 
acted  u  Secietaty.  He  pobMied  A  Li'l  aj 
dn  Abmtm  0/  IrHmd  (ijag):  Ointrva- 
HOHt  01.  Cain  (I7K))  1  0»  '6*  Effrtlt  nf 
Tar  Wattr  (1746):  Eaaj  on  ibi  Una 
ManufattuTt  in  Irtland  (1749).     He  died 


1 2  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

country  from  Rathdowney,  in  Queen's  County,  in  the  following 
winter,  to  enter  the  same  school. 

The  two  boys  found  themselves  in  a  quaint  old  house,  three 
stories  high,  with  a  garden  attached  to  it  which  reached  to  the 
Nore,  the  whole  commanded  by  the  ancient  castle  of  the  Or- 
monds  on  the  opposite  bank.  The  present  building  is  not 
the  one  in  which  Berkeley  and  Prior  formed  their  lasting  friend- 
ship. The  modern  School  or  College  of  Kilkenny  is  a  large  square 
house,  three  stories  high.  Turning  its  back,  as  has  been  said,  in 
suitable  abstraction  from  the  hum  and  bustle  of  the  small  though 
populous  city,  it  faces  toward  the  green  country,  an  extensive 
lawn  spreading  before  it,  which  was  washed  by  the  placid 
Nore.  But  the  original  edifice,  with  which  Berkeley  was 
familiar,  was  a  little  farther  back,  and  faced  the  street,  ^a  grey 
reverend  pile,  of  irregular  and  rather  stra^ling  design,  or  perhaps 
of  no  design  at  all;  having  partly  a  monastic  physic^oray, 
and  partly  that  of  a  dwelling-house.*  The  entrance  to  the 
school-room  was  immediately  to  the  street ;  the  rough  oak 
folding  doors,  arching  at  top,  and  gained  by  flights  of  steps 
at  each  side,  made  a  platform  before  the  entrance,  with  a 
passage  below  by  which  visitors  approached.  To  the  left  was 
another  gateway  by  which  carriages  had  egress.  The  fit)nt  of 
the  building  was  of  cut  stone,  with  Gothic  windows;  giving 
an  appearance  of  a  side  or  back  rather  than  a  front,  with  its 
grotesque  gables,  chimneys,  and  spouts.  The  spouts  jutted  into 
the  street,  and  the  platform  before  the  school-room  entrance 
is  said  to  have  tempted  the  boys  to  contrive  various  annoyances 
to  passers  by. 

It  was  in  this  quaint  building  that  Berkeley  spent  the  greater 
part  of  four  years.  It  was  pulled  down  about  eighty  years  ago, 
but  when  he  entered  it  must  have  been  comparatively  new.  The 
School  itself— the  '  Eton  of  Ireland,'  as  it  has  been  called— before 
and  since  famed  for  its  excellent  masters,  and  its  many  celebrated 
pupils,  was  originally  an  appendage  to  the  magnificent  Cathedral 
of  St.  Canice.  It  declined  in  the  early  part  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  and  had  almost  disappeared,  when  the  original  Ormond 
foundation  was  revived,  and  placed  upon  a  more  ample  footing, 
soon  after  the  Restoration.  In  1684  it  was  confirmed  by  the 
grant  of  a  new  Charter  by  the  Duke  of  Ormond,  and  about  that 


,  Tke  Berkeley  Family  i?t  Kilkenny.  13 

was  reared  the  curious  gabled  building,  with  its  small  central 
,  in  which  Berkeley  studied. 

e  School  had  not  escaped  the  troubles  of  the  time.  Dr. 
jn,  who  was  Head  Master  while  Berkeley  was  a  pupil,  had 
d  to  England  during  Tyrconncl's  government.  In  hJs  absence 
ouse  was  converted  into  a  military  hospital.  After  the  rout 
'  Boyne,  the  second  Duke  of  Ormond  returned  to  his  ancestral 

at  Kilkenny.  The  School  endowed  by  his  grandftither  was 
cd  to  the  original  foundation.  It  was  opened  again  by  Dr. 
M»M  in  January,  1693. 

tides  Berkeley,  Swift  has  helped  to  make  the  Kilkenny  School 
js.  His  name  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  Register,  for  he 
[here  before  the  earliest  entry  in   it  was  commenced.     But 

is  Swift's  own  authority  for  it,  and  that  of  the  Matriculation 
StCT  of  Trinity  College-*,  Provust  Baldwin,  Harris  the 
rian.  Flood  the  orator,  and  Banim  the  novelist,  are  among 
atcr  ornaments.  Scions  of  the  noble  houses  of  Desert, 
quin,  Waterford,  Mornington,  Lismore,  Charlmont,  Boyle, 
uo,  and  Shannon,  were  in  those  days  to  be  found  upon  its 
les.  A  late  learned  Head  Master  laments  that  now  'the  great 
uid  the  little  men  of  Ireiand  are  no  longer  salis^cd  with  an 
;tion  in  their  own  country,' and  adds  that  'the  consequence 
unlearned  and  mentally  enfeebled  race,  instead  of  the  giants 
;  days  when  Ireland  educated  her  own  sons^'.' 
these  four  years,  Berkeley  may  be  supposed  to  have  learned 
instmc  Latin  books,  and  perhaps  easy  Greek   ones.      Nor 

questions    of    mathematics,    we    may    imagine,    entirely 

r.  Hmloa  wu  M»tR  rioni  1684  till 
di  in  1703.  He  wii  t1(o  (1693- 
Afdidacni  of  Caihd. 


\  Tbomae  j     annot 

Jaoalhiai '    qiutuo 

Svift      I      dcciin 


^itui      I    Educatbt  I      TuWr 

comi-   I  iub  ferula    St.  Gsoige 

u  Dub-    Mag.  RiJci        Aihe. 


llnailr  mcnlioDfd,  Ridei   (a    iiMnc  ihice  brothfn  (inclDding  the  r>lh«  of  the 

.>  >u  Miner   of  Kilkenny  School  Dean  of  Si.  Patrick'.),  to  go  o.ct «  coloni.U 

M«  to  1684.  la  ibii  country,  vhtrc  they  obliiued  agin- 

I,  llk<   Bctkclcy.  wu  oT  Eneliih  and  cici  and  other  empbyntcnli.  acrarding  to 

»    daccot.       His    graiulfathcr,    the  the  feihioo  of  the  lime. 
"boDm  Svift.  a  ncu  in   Heieford  "  See  ■  Kilkenny  College,'  by  the  Rev. 

laOctcd  for  hii  nal  in  the  caiue  of  John  Browae,  LL  D.,  in  the  Trataactirmt  vj 

.  L       The  eldot  ton.  Godwin,   ob-  Ibt  KMnity  ArchMtogitid  SocUiy.  »ol.  i. 

M  tppointmart  in  Ireland,  under  the  pp.    lit — 119 — >n  attidle  ti>  which  I  am 

rf  Onnnnd,  vnI  hii  luccew  indoced  indebted. 


14  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkel^. 

strange  to  him  and  his  companions.  But  what  exactly  he  was 
asked  to  learn,  and  how  he  learned  it,  is  not  clear.  It  has  been 
affirmed  and  denied ^<^  that  in  his  youthful  days  he  fed  his  imaginap 
tion  with  the  airy  visions  of  romances,  and  that  these  helped  to 
dissolve  his  sense  of  the  difference  between  illusion  and  reality. 
What  the  romances  may  have  been  we  are  not  told,  nor  can 
we  readily  conjecture.  There  is  some  evidence  that  he  indulged 
in  observation  of  nature,  with  a  propensity  to  explore  the  country 
round  Kilkenny.  His  hitherto  unpublished  account  (contained  in 
another  part  of  this  volume)  of  a  visit,  perhaps  about  this  time, 
to  the  Cave  of  Dimmore,  four  miles  from  the  city,  is  more  in  keep- 
ing than  the  books  of  romance  of  that  day  with  his  inquisitive 
curiosity  about  all  physical  jdienomena,  afterwards  remarked  bjr 
Blackwell.  The  new  neighbourhood  was  not  less  apt  to  awaken 
a  love  for  the  visible  world  than  the  scenes  of  his  childhood  on 
the  Nore  below  Thomastown.  Kilkenny  has  been  compared  to 
Warwick,  and  to  Windsor,  and  to  Oxford.  However  one  may 
judge  of  these  comparisons,  no  modern  visitor  of  the  Irish  dty 
can  soon  forget  the  still  beauty  of  the  Nore,  as  viewed  upwards 
or  downwards  on  a  fair  summer  evening  from  John's  bridge,  or 
from  the  College  meadow ;  or  the  intermixture  of  buildings,  new 
and  old — Castle,  Cathedrals,  and  Round  Tower,  so  happily  grouped 
on  the  high  ground  on  which  the  city  stands ;  or  the  free  and 
careless  grace  of  nature  in  all  the  neighbouring  country. 

Such  were  the  surroundings  of  the  boy  Berkeley,  as  we  now 
dimly  discern  him  and  his  family  doings  through  the  mists  of 
nearly  two  centuries.  Out  of  them  emerged  soon  after,  on  the 
death  of  Locke  and  Leibnitz,  one  who  was  then  without  doubt 
the  foremost  psychologist  and  metaphysician  in  Europe. 

**  The  affirmation  is  in  the  Biog,  Brit,      et  Corrigenda),  on  the  authority  of  Mn. 
(vol.  ii.  art.  *  Berkeley")  and  by  Stock;  the       Berkeley, 
denial  in  the  Biog,  Brit,  (vol.  iii. — Addenda 


CHAPTER    11. 


TRINiry  COLLEGE,  DUBLIN.     ENTHUSIASM  ABOUT  A  NEW 

PHILOSOPHICAL  PRINCIPLE. 

1700— 1713. 

On  die  aist  of  Mardi,  1700,  Berkeley,  leaving  the  ancient  city 
of  Kilkenny,  and  the  picturesque  valley  of  the  Nore,  matriculated 
in  Trinity  CoU^^,  Dublin.  Trinity  College  was  his  head-quarters 
during  tiie  thirteen  years  which  followed.  Not  long  after  his 
matriculation,  we  find  him  exulting,  with  the  fervour  of  an  en- 
thusiastic temperament,  in  a  New  Principle,  for  the  relief  of 
the  difficulties  of  human  knowledge,  with  which  he  somehow 
felt  himself  inspired,  and  which  he  was  eager  to  apply  to  our 
conception  of  the  material  world  and  its  supposed  powers.  His 
thoughts  soon  began  to  overflow  in  writings,  published  and  un- 
published, so  that  we  cannot  follow  him  during  these  thirteen  years 
without  becoming  involved  in  the  speculations  of  metaphysical 
philosophy.  We  have  in  this  chapter  to  trace  the  beginnings  of 
his  intellectual  history. 

Let  us  first  look  at  the  City  and  University  where  this  Kil- 
kenny boy  found  himself  nine  days  after  he  had  completed  his 
(ifiteenth  year,  and  in  which  the  inclination  of  his  childhood  to 
reflective  thought  found  energetic  expression. 

Dublin  in  those  days  little  resembled  the  brilliant  and  pros- 
perous city  which  pleases  the  eye  of  the  stranger  who  now  visits 
the  Irish  capital.  The  ground  now  covered  by  its  most  graceful 
buildings  was  then  waste  land  or  meadow.  The  population, 
which  in  1 700  was  probably  less  than  50,000,  was  gathered  round 
the  Castle  and  the  Cathedrals,  with  some  signs  of  new  streets  on 


1 6  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkel^.  [CH. 

the  opposite  side  of  the  LifFey,  where  old  ones  are  now  found. 
The  original  buildings  of  Trinity  College,  erected  partly  in  the 
reign  of  Elizabeth,  were  becoming  ruinous,  and,  although  standing 
where  the  classic  modem  structure  stands,  were  then  in  the 
outskirts  of  the  city.  The  College  was  designated  Trinity  College 
*  near  Dublin/ 

The  City  and  the  surrounding  country,  at  the  opening  of  the 
new  century,  were  beginning  to  recover  from  the  effects  of  the 
^warre.in  Ireland,'  which  had  ended  ten  years  before.  The  Univer- 
sity was  about  to  renew  its  youth,  after  having  been  on  the  verge 
of  ruin.  The  contest  into  which  the  Revolution  of  1688  plung^l 
Ireland,  involved  Trinity  College,  as  well  as  the  ^  famous  school' 
of  Kilkenny,  in  its  collisions.  Early  in  1689  the  Registry  reveals 
preparations  for  flight  on  the  part  of  the  Fellows.  A  month  later 
the  College  was  occupied  by  the  military,  and  most  of  the  Fellows 
were  in  England.  Then  James  arrived  in  Dublin,  and  converted 
the  academical  buildings  into  a  garrison,  and  the  old  CoU^ 
Chapel  into  a  magazine  for  gunpowder.  It  was  even  proposed 
to  commit  the  Library  to  the  flames. 

The  battle  of  the  Boyne,  in  July  1690,  saved  the  University  in 
the  crisis  of  its  fete.  After  this,  it  recovered  rapidly,  by  the 
fostering  care  of  the  Government,  and  the  sagacity  of  its  Provosts 
and  other  ofificials.  Even  in  1693,  it  was  able  to  celebrate  its 
first  centenary  in  a  way  not  unbecoming.  It  gradually  engag^ 
the  attention  and  support  of  the  Irish  Parliament.  Successive 
grants  of  money  were  made  in  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth 
century  and  afterwards.  New  buildinp  began  to  rise.  Many  of 
the  extensive  and  handsome  academical  structures  which  now 
form  Trinity  College  were  reared  in  the  reigns  of  Anne  and 
the  first  two  Georges.  Little  remains  of  the  decayed  build- 
ings,  desecrated  in  war,  which  met  Berkeley's  eye  when  he  came 
to  matriculate  in  March  1700.  The  present  magnificent  library 
was  erected  between  1710  and  1720.  The  elegant  west  front 
belongs  to  a  still  later  period,  as  well  as  the  new  College  Chapel, 
which  stands  a  little  to  the  north  of  the  old  one,  where  Berkeley 
went  to  daily  prayers,  and  delivered  discourses  on  Sundays. 
Intellectual  activity,  and  extension  of  the  means  of  knowledge 
seem,  as  the  century  advanced,  to  have  feirly  kept  pace  with  the 
renovation  of  the  College  buildings.     The  influence  of  the  dis- 


.]  Trinity  College,  Dublin.  I  7 

s  of  Newton,  Boyle,  Hooke,  and  Locke,  and  of  the  splendid 
bypotbeses  of  Des  Cartes,  Malebranche,  and  Leibnitz — a  galaxy  of 
I  of  genius  who  were  passing  away  as  the  eighteenth  century 
Was  opening — began  gradually  to  show  itself.  Lectureships  in 
chemistry,  botany,  and  anatomy  were  added  to  the  College  courses 
1710.  Experimental  philosophy  soon  followed,  A  complete 
Khool  of  physic  was  designed,  and  to  a  great  extent  organised, 
btcr  in  the  century.  Nor  was  modern  science  the  only  object 
i  regard.  In  1718,  Archbishop  King  endowed  a  Divinity  Lecture, 
o  be  held  by  a  Senior  Fellow,  for  the  better  instruction  of 
fiacfaetoTs  of  Arts  intended  for  holy  orders. 

A  scholasticism  out  of  which  the  subtle  intellectual  life  of  the 
intddle  ages  had  departed  apparently  still  prevailed  in  the  Uni- 
versity, at  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century,  especially  in  logic 
and  metaphysics,  ethics  and  theology.  From  more  than  one 
eminent  man  subjected  to  the  influences  of  Trinity  College  at  this 
time,  there  came  complaints  of  the  tendency  of  the  system  to  crush 
Ifxmtaaeous  thought  and  inquiry,  similar  to  those  of  contemporary 
Ituticats  in  other  European  Universities.  Logic,  according  to  the 
model  of  that  time,  was  in  vain  presented  to  Swift's  notice,  for 
mcc,  during  the  years  in  which  he  was  at  Trinity  (ifi82 — 87), 
although  it  was  then  and  there  a  principal  object  of  learning.  'His 
disposition,'  says  Scott, '  altogether  rejected  the  scholastic  sophistry 
f  Smiglicius,  Keckermannus,  Burgersdicius,  and  other  ponderous 
worries,  now  hardly  known  by  name;  nor  could  his  tutor  ever 
persuade  him  to  read  three  p.iges  in  one  of  them,  though  some 
Kquaintance  with  the  commentators  of  Aristotle  was  then  abso- 
fately  necessary  at  passing  examination  for  his  degrees '.'  Swift 
naturally  averse  to  the  subtleties  of  the  schools,  but  this 
^version  to  a  then  dead  philosophy  was  shared  by  more  spccu- 
htivc  minds,  and  only  waited  for  a  powerfiji  philosophical  voice 
Q  give  it  practical  expression. 


The  Provost  of  Trinity,  in  March  1700,  was  Dr.  Peter  Bro 
4  man   not   unworthy  of  note  in  the  philosophical  annals  of 
Iff  land,  as  the  author  afterwards  of  the  Procedtire  and  Limits  of  Human 

'  Life  urSirift  Ri-  IJ.  16-  milled  in  fivoui  of  Bt&writ."  by  ihe  moit 

'  TWoftJiogtiplij—- Blown 'or -Browne'  nuiuei<'ni  and  weighty  (but  noi  by  ill)  Ihe 

■fe«M  whidi  t  hiire  hilbeno  hetitued.  in  oiigiiul  intbontici.     In  fact  Iba   pnctieo 

t  BOwBtt  of  piEccdenti.  hit  been  detci-  wu  not  uoiforni, » io  the  cue  of  *  Bakclejr.' 
VOL.  IV,                                                C 


i8 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


Understanding  and  the  Divsne  Analogy^  and  as  a  learned  critical  an- 
tagonist of  Locke.  Many  now  remember  him,  when  they  remember 
him  at  all,  only  for  his  whimsical  sermons  and  pamphlets^  against 
drinking  healths,  and  against  drinking  in  remembrance  of  the  dead. 
The  life  of  Browne  is  unwritten,  but  it  deserves  research.  Ac- 
cording to  contemporary  report,  he  was  *  an  austere, .  learned, 
and  mortified  man.'  The  gravity  of  his  manner,  and  the  severe 
beauty  of  his  eloquence  as  a  preacher  are  said  to  have  checked 
the  '  false  glitter  of  words'  in  which  his  countrymen  are  apt  to 
indulge  themselves.  In  1700  he  was  known  as  the  author  of 
the  most  learned  and  vigorous  reply*  then  encountered  by  Tolancfi 
Christianity  not  Mysterious^  3.  reply  which  contains  the  germs  of 
some  of  his  own  philosophical  theology.  He  was  born  in  the 
county  of  Dublin  soon  after  the  Restoration,  and  he  entered 
Trinity  College  in  June  1682.  Ten  years  later  he  became  a  Fellow. 
He  was  raised  to  the  Provostship  in  August  1699,  a  few  months 
before  Berkeley  matriculated,  and  was  promoted  to  the  bishopric 
of  Cork  and  Ross  in  January  17 lo^  Browne  was  thus  Provost 
during  the  greater  part  of  Berkeley's  residence  in  Trinity.  Long 
after  this,  they  encountered  one  another  as  philosophical  and 
theolc^ical  antagonists,  and  we  shall  find  them  near  neighbours 
for  a  few  months  in  a  distant  part  of  Ireland. 

In  his  early  years  at  Trinity,  Berkeley  was  under  the  tuition  of 
Dr.  John  Hall,  who  was  Vice-Provost  from  1697  till  1713.  To 
Hall  he  attributes,  in  the  Preface  to  his  Arithmetical  his  own  early 
enthusiasm  in  mathematics^  and  he  refers  with  gratitude  to  his 
example  and  instructions.  Of  other  contemporary  Fellows  or 
Professors  nothing  particular  is  recorded.     Pratt  and  Baldwin, 


'  (l)  Drinking  in  Rtmemhrance  of  the 
Dead,  being  the  subttance  rf  a  Discourse 
delivered  to  the  Clergy  of  the  Diocese  of 
Cork.  Dublin,  1713.  (2)  Second  Part  0/ 
Drinking  in  Remembrance  of  the  Dead^  d:c, 
Dublin,  1714  {$)  An  Answer  to  a  Rigbt 
Reverend  Prelate's  Defence  of  Eating  and 
Drinking  to  the  Memory  of  the  Dead. 
Dublin,  1715.  (4)  ii  Discourse  of  Drinking 
Healths ;  wherein  the  great  evil  of  the  custom 
is  shewn.  Dublin,  1716.  (5)  il  Letter  to  a 
Gentleman  in  Oxford  on  the  Subject  of 
Health  Drinking.   1722. 

The  Jacobites  were  said  to  indulge  in  the 
practice  of  drinking  in  remembrance  of  the 
dead  King  James. 


*  A  Letter  in  Answer  to  a  Book  maUki 
*  Christianity  not  Mysterious;*  «u  also  to  tM 
those  who  set  up  for  Reasom  amd  Evtdma 
in  op f  option  to  RevdaHon  and  MytHeitL 
Dublin,  1697.  This  work  broa^  dit 
author  the  pairo.  age  of  Marsh,  ktStHAlkaf 
of  Dublin,  whose  influence  gained  for  Browit 
the  Provostsh*p  of  the  College,  and  aftfl^ 
wards  the  bishopric  of  Cork.  Tobnd,  ao> 
cordingly,  used  to  saj  that  it  was  he  wIm» 
made  Browne  Bishop  of  Cork. 

'  Swift  expected  this  bishopric  wbiok 
Browne  got  it,  and  the  disappointmeDt  it 
said  to  have  been  the  inmiediatc  occasoa  of 
his  going  over  to  the  Tories. 


»]  Timiiy  CoOql*,  DuiHn,  19 

lAemardf.  distimiiished  Provosts^  seem  to  have  been  amcMig  the 
as  weU  as  Nidiolas  Fcmter,  afterwards  Bishop  of  KiUaloe 
of  Raphoe^  and  Rkhard  Helsham,  afterwards  Professor  of 
Pliiloaoiihj. 

'bi  Dublia,  outside  tiie  Universitjr,  cossiderahle  intellectual 
were  at  woilc.    One  remarkable  figure^  associated  both  with 
O^  and  liie  'Uniwrsitjr  in  the  last  two  decades  of  the 
ceatey,  was  William  Mdyneoz,  bom  of  a  family 
m  kliers  and  ia  fofalic  life%  whose  keen  and  delicate 
an  represented  in  his  pictore  in  the  JBzamination  Hall 
fke  College.    The  oonespondence  of  Mcdjrneoz  with  Locke^ 
visit  to  the  Jgngiish  philosopher  at  Oates^  and  the  story  of  his 
iati^  after  ihe.pIeasiEuit  weeks  in  Essex,  are  familiar 
Oose  aoqnainted  with  the  history  of  the  English  ^losopher. 
was  bom  in  DUUin  in  1655^  and  entered  the  University  in 
In  June  \^^  he  liecame  a  member  of  the  Middle  Temple, 
qpitfed  himself  for  a  time  to  the  study  of  law.    But  his 
lay  in  anotimr  direction.    He  was  delicate  from  his 
fadancy,  and  through  life  he  suffered  from  a  dangerous  chronic 
disease.    This  did  not  interfere  with  his  strong  bias  to  mathe- 
matics and  the  modern  philosophy,  nor  with  his  expressions  of 
contempt  for  the  scholasticism  then  dominant  in  the  University. 
He   was   active    in    promoting   the    modern    spirit   of  inquiry. 
In  1680^  he  published  a  translation  of  the  Meditations  of  Des 
Cartes,    the    objections   of   Hobbes,    and   Des    Cartes'    rejoin- 
ders, along  with  a  short   biographical   account  of  the   French 
philosopher.       In     1683,    he    founded    a    Society    in     Dublin, 
similar  to  the  Royal  Society  of  London,   in  which  he  acted 
as  secretary,  and  which  continued  in  vigour  for  several  years, 
till  it  was  dispersed  by  the  storms  of  1688.    About  that  time  the 
severities  of  Tyrconnel  obliged  Molyncux  to  fly  to  England.    He 
^)ent  some  time  with  his  family  at  Chester,  and  there  his  son 
S^uel  was  bom,  afterwards  the  friend  of  Berkeley.     After  his 

•  The  father  of  Williim  Mol3meux  (spelt  lician.    The  grandfather,  Daniel,  was  Ulster 

Molynex   in  the  matriculation   registry  of  King  at  Arms,  called  by  Ware  veneranda 

TrioitjCollege,  and  elsewhere  Molineux)  was  antiquitatis  cuUor.     A  Thomas  Molyneux 

as  emtDcnt  engineer,  and  an  author  in  that  was  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  in  Ireland 

defMirtment.     He  died  in  1 696.     A  brother,  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 
Sir  Thomtf  Mdyneoz,  was  an  eminent  phy- 

C  2 


20  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

return  to  Dublin,  he  devoted  himself  to  optics  and  philosophy,  and 
to  the  social  questions  of  Ireland.  His  Diaptrka  Nova  appeared 
in  1692  and  was  warmly  praised  by  Halley.  In  the  same  year  he 
was  chosen  to  represent  the  University  of  Dublin  in  the  Irish 
Parliament,  a  position  which  he  held  till  his  death  in  1698.  In 
politics  he  was  a  champion  for  the  independence  of  his  native 
country,  and  published  in  1697  his  celebrated  Case  rf  IrtUmi 
heing  hound  by  Acts  of  Parliament  in  England,  His  cordial  cor* 
respondence  with  Locke,  from  1692  till  his  death  in  1698, 
suggested  some  important  additions  to  the  Essay  on  Human  Under^ 
standing,  and  occasioned  the  interesting  visit  to  Oates  in  tiie 
month  before  he  died. 

Partly  through  the  influence  of  William  Molyneux,  the  Essof 
on  Human  Understanding  found  its  way  into  the  hands  of  readiif 
men  in  Dublin  before  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century.    It 
was  translated  into  Latin,  in  1701,  by  Ezekiel  Burridge,  a  native 
of  Cork,  and  a  member  of  Trinity  College.     The  name  of  Locke, 
as  well  as  that  of  Des  Cartes,  must  have  been  tolerably  familiar 
there  in  March  1700.     The  Recherche  of  Malebranche  too,  the 
contemporary   rival    of  the   Essay   in    the    philosophical    world, 
cannot  have  been  unknown;  and  curiolis  readers  may  have  en- 
countered the  Ideal  or  Intelligiile  World  of  John  Norris,  the  English 
Malebranche,  soon  after  it  appeared  in  1701 — ^4.   At  the  same  time 
the  rivalry  between  the  natural  philosophy  of  Des  Cartes  and  the 
natural   philosophy  of  Newton   was  going  on,  and  both  were 
drawing  attention  away  from  the  natural  philosophy  of  Aristotle. 
The  Princifia  of  Newton   was  published  thirteen  years  before 
Berkeley  entered  Trinity  College.     The  method  of  Fluxions  was 
beginning  to  be  employed,  and  was  struggling  for  mastery  with 
the  Calculus  of  Leibnitz.    The  Dioptrics  of  Molyneux  was  soon 
followed   by  the  Oftics   of  Newton.     Wallis   and   the  Oxford 
mathematicians,  with  the  works  of  the  founders  and  leaders  of 
the  Royal  Society,  then  forty  years  old,  might  have  been  cominoD 
talk  in  the  academic  circle  of  Dublin  in  the  opening  years  of 
the  century.     Berkeley,  in  short,  entered  an  atmosphere,  in  the 
College  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  which  was  beginning  to  be  charged 
with  the  elements  of  reaction  against  traditional  scholasticism  in 
physics  and  in  metaphysics. 

During  the  greater  part  of  these  thirteen  years,  the  archbishopric 


ii.J  Trinity  College,  Dublin.  ar 

of  Oablin  was  held  by  a  prelate  who  takes  a  distinguished  place 
amoDg  the  philosophical  theologians  of  his  time.  William  King, 
ftlrcady  known  as  the  author  of  the  treatise  Dt  Origine  Mali 
which  employed  tlic  controversial  pens  of  Bayle  and  Leibnitz, 
was  translated  from  Derry  to  Dublin  in  1 703.  He  was  the  sagacious, 
witty,  and  sarcastic  ecclesiastical  governor  of  that  province  for 
twenly-six  years.  The  personal  appearance  and  discourses  of 
the  philosophic  Archbishop  cannot  have  been  unknown  to  the 
idergntduates  and  graduates  of  Trinity  College  of  those  years. 
Traces  of  intercourse  between  the  subtle  Berkeley  and  King, 
the  discreet  and  dignified  politician,  if  any  ever  existed,  are  now 
lost.  Browne  as  Provost,  and  King  as  Archbishop,  must  have 
been  known  to  each  other.  And  references  to  the  philosophical 
fiicolf^  of  the  other  two  are  to  be  found  in  the  subsequent 
writings  of  ail  the  three. 

The  yea/  in  which  Berkeley  matriculated  in  Dublin  was  also 
the  year  in  which  Swift  was  settled  at  Laracor,  about  twenty 
lilcs  north-west  of  the  city.  Laracor  was  his  home  during  the 
lirtcen  years  of  Berkeley's  residence  in  Trinity,  and  it  was  at  the 
id  of  the  thirteen  years  that  Swift  became  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's, 
was  in  tliosc  years  that  he  was  planting  his  willows,  and  making 
s  canal,  and  enjoying,  as  much  as  his  frequent  visits  to  London 
Duid  permit,  *the  garden,  and  the  river,  and  the  holly  and  the 
icrry  trees,  and  the  river  walk.'  Before  he  went  to  London 
1710,  to  spend  three  years  there,  the  intimate  of  Earls 
Ambassadors,  he  had  probably  heard  of  Berkeley,  one  of  the 
Fellows  of  Trinity  College,  then  the  author  of  a  remark- 
itebook. 

Among  his  undergraduate  compeers,  Berkeley  found  his  old 
ilkcnny  schoolfellow,  Thomas  Prior.  Samuel  Madden,  the  founder, 
ith  Prior,  of  the  Royal  Irish  Society,  some  thirty  years  after,  was 
an  undergraduate  in  those  days,  William  Palliser,  son  of  the 
rchbishop  to  whom  Trinity  College  is  indebted  for  its  Biiliotkeca 
ttSttrum^y  seems  to  have  been  also  a  College  chum.  Later  on 
Berkeley's  course,  Edward  Syngc,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Ferns  and 
Elpbin,  was  an  intimate  associate,  and  so  too  might  have  been 
irry  Hartwell,  afterwards  btother-in-law  of  the  Dean  Gcrvais, 
bo  was  the   friend   and   correspondent  of  Berkeley's   old   age. 


22 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


Conterini'^,  the  good  uncle  of  Oliver  Goldsmith,  another  of  his 
chums,  is  connected  by  a  characteristic  story  with  Berkeley's  early 
years  at  College.  Oiriosity,  it  is  said,  led  the  young  student 
from  Kilkenny  to  go  to  see  an  execution.  He  returned  pensive 
and  melancholy,  but  inquisitive  about  the  sensations  experienced 
by  the  criminal  in  the  crisis  of  his  fate.  He  informed  Conterini 
of  his  eccentric  curiosity.  It  was  agreed  between  them  that  he 
should  himself  try  the  experiment,  and  be  relieved  by  his  friend 
on  a  signal  arranged,  after  which  Conterini,  in  his  turn,  was  to 
repeat  the  experiment.  Berkeley  was  accordingly  tied  up  to  the 
ceiling,  and  the  chair  removed  from  under  his  feet.  Losing 
consciousness,  his  companion  waited  in  vain  for  the  signal.  The 
enthusiastic  inquirer  might  have  been  hung  in  good  earnest,— 
and  as  soon  as  he  was  relieved  he  fell  motionless  upon  the  floor. 
On  recovering  himself  his  first  words  were — 'Bless  my  heart, 
Conterini,  you  have  rumpled  my  band.*  After  this  his  friend's 
curiosity  was  not  enough  to  induce  him  to  fulfil  the  (original 
agreement.  If  not  true  in  the  letter,  this  story  is  at  least  true 
to  the  spirit  of  Berkeley's  ardent  psychological  analysis,  and  brave 
indifference  even  to  life  in  the  interest  of  truth. 

This  among  other  eccentric  actions,  we  are  told,  made  Berkeley 
a  mystery.  Ordinary  people  did  not  understand  him,  and  laughed 
at  him.  Soon  after  his  entrance,  he  began  to  be  looked  at  as 
either  the  greatest  genius  or  the  greatest  dunce  in  College.  Those 
who  were  slightly  acquainted  with  him  took  him  for  a  fool; 
but  those  who  shared  his  intimate  friendship  thought  him  a 
prodigy  of  learning  and  goodness  of  heart.  When  he  walked 
about,  which  was  seldom,  he  was  surrounded  by  the  idlers, 
who  came  to  enjoy  a  laugh  at  his  expense.  Of  this,  it  is  said, 
he  sometimes  complained,  but  there  was  no  redress^  the  more 
he  fretted  the  more  he  amused  them. 


'  The  Rev.  Thomas  Conterini,  or  Con- 
terine,  as  I  find  by  the  College  Register, 
entered  Trinity  College  October  2,  1702,  in 
his  eighteenth  year — ^•filius  Austin  Conte- 
rine,  Coloni,  natus  Cestuae,  educatus  Wrexom, 
in  Wallia/  He  was  descended  from  a  mem- 
ber of  the  noble  family  of  Conterini  in 
Venice,  who  took  refuge  in  England,  and 
was  for  a  time  settled  in  Cheshire.  Thomas 
was  bom  there,  and  went  thence  to  school  at 
Wrexham,  in  Denbighshire.     Removing  to 


Ireland  in  1 701,  he  entered  Trinity  CoOe^ 
where  he  was  distinguished  for  intdUgaice 
and  goodness  of  heart,  and  for  his  intimtte 
friendship  with  Berkeley.  He  long  held  the 
living  of  Gran  in  Roscommon.  He  married 
Goldsmith's  aunt,  and  it  was  by  his  kiodiicss 
that  the  poet  was  enabled  to  ponoe  his 
studies  at  college.  It  is  to  him  that  Gold- 
smith alludes  in  his  DtstrUd  Viilagt-^ 
*  Near  yonder  copse,  where  ODce  the 
garden  smiled,'  8cc. 


H.] 


Trinity  €oU^^  Dublin. 


23 


I&  qiite  of  tiiese  impediments^  he  pursued  his  studies,  in  those 
ink  ]«ufs  at  Trinity^  according  to  report,  with  extraordinary 
Vd^  <fiiU  of  atmplidty  and  enthusiasm.'  He  was  made  a 
Sdioiar  in  1702*.  In  the  spring  of  1704  (the  year  Locke  died) 
Ik  became  Badhdor  of  Arts^.  He  took  his  Master's  degree  in 
tte  ^rii^  of  1707.  After  the  customary  arduous  examination  of 
Ifaat  Uniyeistty,  conducted  in  presence  of  nobility,  gentry,  and 
k^  officiah,  be  passed  with  unprecedented  applause,  and  was 
admitted  to  a  Fellowship,  June  9,  1707^%  ^the  only  reward  of 
Ifaming  that  kingdom  has  to  bestow/  as  one  of  his  biographers 
cutly  says* 

The  'Berkeley  Papers'  throw  fresh  and  interesting  lig^t  upon 
his  coqployments,  and  upon  the  occupation  and  progress  of  his 
Ihoi^ts,  in  the  seven  years  between  his  matriculation  and  his 
decttoa  as  Fellow. 

One  academical  enterprise  which  these  Papers  record  deserves 
to  be  mentioned.  Early  in  1705,  it  seems  that  Berkeley  and 
seme  of  his  College  friends  fbrm^  a  Society  to  promote  their 
investigations  in  the  New  Philosophy  of  Boyle,  Newton,  and 
Locke.  The  manuscript  commences  with  these  words  in  Berkeley's 
own  handwriting: — ^'Mem.  The  following  Statutes  were  agreed 
to  and  signed  by  a  Society  consisting  of  eight  persons,  January  10, 
A.D.  1705/  The  'Statutes'  are  then  given,  as  follows,  in  the 
handwriting  of  another : — 

'  That  the  Oflficers  of  this  Society  be  a  President,  Treasurer,  Secretary, 
and  Keeper  of  the  Rarities. 

That  these  OflScers  be  elected  out  of  the  Members  by  the  majority 
of  voices. 


'  The  exnoloments  of  a  Scholar  in  those 
days  seem  not  to  have  exceeded  £3. 

*  The  following  extract  from  Temple's 
Statutes,  which  were  then  virtually  in 
force,  throws  light  on  the  necessary 
qualifications  of  a  Bachelor  of  Arts: — 
*  Cap.  VIL  De  Grzci  et  Hebraici  Idiomatis 
oognitione,  quanta  esse  dcbeat  in  iis  qui 
Bacchalaareatum  in  Artibus  Toluit  assumere. 

Ut ilium  Bacchalaurei  nomine  in- 

<fignaro  potemus,  qui  non  possit  totius  Novi 
Testameoti  textum  Grsecum  Latine  inter- 
pertari.  Qood  vero  ad  Hebraicae  lingux 
cognitioncm   attinet   satis  erit  ad  Baccha- 


laurei titulum  consequendum,  si  quis  Hebrai- 
cse  QrammaticsB  pratcepta  sic  intelligat,  ut 
eorum  ductu  possit  voces  Hebrxas,  sive 
nomina  sint  sive  verba,  expedite  flccterc,  ct 
primum  secundumque  Psalmum  in  Hebrseo 
in  Latinam  convertere.* 

*•  For  the  following  entry  or  note  occurs 
in  the  records  of  Trinity  College  regarding 
Berkeley  : — *  In  1 706  no  Fellowship  vacant, 
but  in  September  Mr.  Mullart  resigned  on  a 
living.  In  1 707,  Mr.  Berkeley,  who  had 
entered  in  -(f^,  under  Dr.  Hall,  was  elected 
a  Fellow.* 


24  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ciL 

That  every  Member  when  he  speaks  address  himself  to  the  President 

That  in  case  of  equality  the  President  have  a  casting-voice. 

That  when  two  offer  at  once  the  President  name  the  person  that 
shall  speak. 

That  the  Assembly  proceed  not  to  any  business  till  the  President 
give  orders. 

That  in  the  absence  of  the  President  the  Assembly  choose  a 
Chairman. 

That  no  new  Member  be  admitted  before  the  9th  of  July,  1 706. 

That  the  Treasurer  disburse  not  any  money  but  by  order  of  the 
House,  signed  by  the  President,  and  directed  by  the  Secretary. 

That  he  shall  make  up  his  accounts  quarterly,  or  upon  resignation 
of  his  office. 

That  the  notes  signed  by  the  President  and  directed  by  the  Secretaiy 
make  up  the  Treasurer's  accounts. 

That  the  Treasurer  may  disburse  money  for  public  letters  without  a 
note  from  the  President,  but  shall  acquaint  the  Assembly  with  it  next 
meeting  and  then  get  a  note. 

That  the  Secretary  have  the  charge  of  all  papers  belonging  to  the 
Society. 

That  the  Keeper  of  the  Rarities  attend  at  the  Museum  from  a  to  4 
on  Friday,  or  the  person  whom  he  shall  depute. 

That  at  the  request  of  any  of  the  Members  the  Keeper  of  the  Rarities 
attend  in  person,  or  send  the  key  to  the  Member. 

That  no  one  interrupt  a  Member  when  he  is  speaking. 

That  no  one  speak  twice  to  the  same  matter  before  every  one  who 
pleases  has  spoken  to  it. 

That  no  one  reflect  on  the  person  or  opinions  of  any  one  whatever. 

That  if  any  one  uses  an  unwary  expression  he  may  have  leave  to 
explain  himself. 

That  no  Member  reveal  the  secrets  of  the  Assembly. 

That  when  any  of  the  Members  bring  in  a  paper,  the  President 
appoint  any  three  he  pleases  to  examine  it  against  next  meeting,  and 
give  in  their  opinion  of  it  in  writing. 

That  the  time  appointed  for  meeting  be  5  of  the  clock  every  Friday 
evening. 

That  whoever  is  absent  from  the  meeting  be  fined  sixpence,  and  he 
that  comes  after  six  of  the  clock  threepence. 

That  the  punishment  for  the  transgression  of  any  other  Statute  be 
determined  by  the  Assembly. 


^ 


tkj^  Trimty  Colkge^  DttbUn^  ^ 

*  Tbit  tbese  pnnWtments  be  paid  the  Treasurer  eitber  befic»e  or  at 
■i  meetiiig. 

Tbat  die  AsBemhtjr  way  repeal  or  alter  these  Statutes  or  make  new 


Tliat  eveiydung  not  provided  fiir  otherwise  be  d^ermined  1^ 
pi  voioes. 

That  the  Elections  of  Oflkers  be  made  at  the  last  meetiiig  of  every 
fHtfter,  and  that  the  Officers  then  deOed  continue  for  the  three  ioi- 
lowing  months. 

That  whoever   leaves   &e  Assembly  before   it's   brdien   up   pay 


That  eveiy  meetfaig  the  majority  appoint  a  sabject  Ux  next  conferaice. 

That  first  die  President  speak  concerning  the  matter  to  be  discoused 
\pa9  and  after  him  die  next  <m  his  right  hand,  and  so  on  every  one 
diit  pleases  in  order  as  they  sit,  and  that  such  member  stand  up  as 

That  when  diese  more  solemn  disooorses  are  over,  and  not  tiQ  then, 
eveiy  one  may  talk  fieefy  on  the  matter,  and  propose  and  answer  whapt- 
ever  doiibts  or  objecdons  may  arise. 

That  when  the  sabject  of  the  conference  has  been  suffidentty  dis- 
die  members  may  propose  to  the  Assembty  thdr  inventions,  new 
dioii^;hts,  or  observadons  in  any  of  the  sdences. 

That  the  conference  continue  for  three  hours  at  least,  or  longer  if 
the  Assembly  think  fit 

That  the  conference  begin  at  three  in  the  afternoon  on  Friday  and 
continue  till  eight' 

The  following  queries  and  other  memoranda  in  Berkeley's 
writing,  obviously  connected  with  Locke's  Essay^  follow  in  the 
Common-place  Book  immediately  after  the  Statutes,  but  whether 
they  were  to  be  considered  at  any  of  the  meetings  of  the  Society 
does  not  appear : — 

*  Qa  Whether  number  be  in  the  objects  without  the  mind.  L.  [Locke] 
b.  a.  c.  8.  s.  9. 

Why  powers  mediately  perceivable  thought  such,  immediately  per- 
ceivable not.  b.  2.  c.  8.  s.  19. 

Whether  solids  seen.  b.  2.  c.  9.  s.  9. 

Whether  discerning,  comparing,  compounding,  abstracting,  &c., 
remembering,  knowing  simple  or  complex  ideas — ^the  same  with,  or 
different  from  perception  ? 

Whether  taste  be  a  simple  idea,  since  it  is  combined  with  existence, 
unity,  pleasure,  or  pain  ? 


26  Life  and  Lettet's  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

Whether  all  the  last  mentioned  do  not  make  a  complex  idea  as  well 
as  the  several  component  ideas  of  a 

Wherein  brutes  distinguished  from  men?  Wherein  idiots  from 
madmen  ? 

Whether  any  knowledge  without  memory  ? 

God  space,  b.  2.  c  13.  s.  326  and  15.  2. 

Rotation  of  a  fire-brand,  why  makes  a  circle  ? 

Why  men  more  easily  admit  of  infinite  duration  than  infinite 
expansion  ? 

Demonstration  in  numbers,  whether  more  general  in  their  use  for  the 
reason?  L.  qu.  b.  2.  ch.  10. 

Inches,  &c.,  not  settled,  stated  lengths  against,  b.  2.  c.  13.  s.  4. 

Qu.  Whether  motion,  extension,  and  time  be  not  definable,  and  there- 
fore complete  ? 

Qu.  Whether  the  clearness  or  distinctness  of  each  greater  mode  of 
number  be  so  verified  ? 

Qu.  Why  Locke  thinks  we  can  have  ideas  of  no  more  modes  of 
number  than  have  names  ? 

Not  all  God's  attributes  properly  infinite.  Why  other  ideas  besides 
number  be  not  capable  of  infinity  ?     Not  rightly  solved. 

Infinity  and  infinite.  No  such  thing  as  an  obscure,  confused  idea  of 
infinite  space. 

Power  is  not  perceived  by  sense. 

Locke  not  to  be  blamed  if  tedious  about  innate  ideas,  soul  always 
thinking,  tension  not  essence  of  body,  tune  can  be  conceived  and 
measured  when  no  motion,  willing  not  force,  &c. 

A  thing  may  be  voluntary  though  necessary.  Qu.  Whether  it  can 
be  involuntary  ? 

Things  belonging  to  reflection  are  for  the  most  part  expressed  by 
forms  borrowed  from  things  sensible.' 

One  other  record,  either  of  the  same  or  of  a  similar  Society, 
immediately  follows  these  queries  and  notes : — 

'  December  the  seventh,  in  the  year  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
six,  Agreed — 

That  we  the  under  written  persons  do  meet  on  every  Thursday,  at 
five  of  the  clock  in  the  evening. 

That  the  business  of  our  meeting  be  to  discourse  on  some  part  of 
the  New  Philosophy. 

That  the  junior  begin  the  Conference,  the  second  senior  speak 
next,  and  so  on. 


College,  Dublin. 

That  at  the  close  of  every  Conference,  we  appoint  a  Subject  for  tlie 
■  fcUowing.' 

The  '  underwTittcn '  names  unfortunately  are  not  given.  We 
ifc  left  in  the  dark  about  Berkeley's  associates  at  these  Thursday 
evening  meetings,  for  the  discussion  of  the  *  New  Pliilosophy;'  and 
also  very  much  as  to  the  questions  they  discussed,  and  the  con- 
clusions (if  any)  which  they  reached.  The  office  of 'Keeper  of 
the  Rarities'  probably  implies  that  observation  and  experiment 
were  as  much  in  vogue  among  them  as  the  mathematical  and 
metaphysical  speculations  of  the  hitherto  unpublished  Common- 
place Book  in  which  the  memorials  of  this  Society  appear.  The 
other  contents  of  that  Book,  written  by  Berkeley's  own  hand, 
and  now  published  in  another  part  of  this  volume,  may 
perhaps  exemplify  some  of  the  questions  which  engaged  these 
Trinity  Collide  inquirers  in  the  two  years  before  he  obtained 
his  Fellowship. 

The  promotion  of  Societies,  literary  and  philosophic,  was  a 
work  in  which  through  life  Berkeley  seemed  fond  of  engaging. 
We  &cul  instances  of  this  afterwards. 

Tbe  Common-place  Book,  to  a  stray  page  in  which  we  owe  our 
infbrmation  about  this  academical  reunion,  represents  Berkeley's 
studies,  and  the  course  of  his  thoughts,  apparently  from  about  his 
eighteenth  till  about  his  twenty-second  year — the  yea^s  immediately 
before  he  presented  himself  to  the  world  as  an  author.  It  is  a 
biographical  document  of  great  value  to  those  whose  conception  of 
biography  comprehends  analysis  of  the  prc^ressive  unfolding  of 
individual  human  mind.  It  contains  thoughts,  self- originated,  or 
immediately  occasioned  by  reading,  partly  in  natural  philosophy 
and  mathematics,  chiefly  in  psychology,  metaphysics,  ethics, 
and  theology.  The  prevailing  tendency  of  the  whole  is  to  the 
banishment  of  scholasticism  from  philosophy,  as  well  as  all  talk 
about  things  which  cannot  be  resolved  into  living  experience  of 
coocrete  matter  of  fact, — called  by  him  idta  or  sensation.  He  is 
everywhere  eager  to  simplify  things  and  make  knowledge  practi- 
cal, to  bring  men  back  to  facts,  and  to  expel  empty  abstractions 
from  philosophy,  as  the  banc  of  religion  and  morality  not  less  i 
than  of  physical  science.    There  is  also  a  disposition  towards  the 


28  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cft 

intellectual  independence  which  rebels  against  the  bondage  of 
words,  and  an  enthusiastic  straightforwardness  of  character,  s^ 
to  be  regarded  as  eccentricity  by  the  multitude — but  with  a  desire 
to  conciliate  too.  What  he  writes  plainly  flows  from  himself 
if  ever  any  writing  did  flow  from  the  mind  of  the  writer. 

The  mathematical  observations  contained  in  the  Common- 
mon-place  Book  do  not  suggest  a  high  standard  of  proficiency;  but 
it  must  be  remembered  that  they  are  the  work  of  one  hardly 
beyond  the  age  of  a  schoolboy.  In  the  early  parts,  infinite  divisi- 
bility  and  incommensurables  recur.  These  Berkeley  exclaims 
against  as  examples  of  the  unmeaning  verbal  abstractions  which 
might,  he  thought,  be  banished  from  science  by  an  all-comprehen- 
sive purgative  Principle  which  he  was  then  beginning  to  sec, 
and  in  the  first  indistinct  recognition  of  which  he  indulges  in 
successive  outbreaks  of  intellectual  enthusiasm.  It  may  be  alleged 
perhaps,  by  mathematicians,  that  Berkeley  in  these  memoranda 
contrasts  with  indivisibles  only  infinite  divisibility,  and  not  the 
continuous  flow  which  is  at  the  bottom  of  Newton's  theory  of 
Fluxions.  He  would  probably  have  denied  that  an  idem  di  con- 
tinuity is  possible.  But  we  find  no  distinct  allusion  to  Newton 
and  Fluxions  till  we  advance  pretty  far  into  the  Common-place 
Book,  where  he  returns  to  mathematics  through  optics.  The  re- 
marks on  optics  are  at  first  very  elementary. 

Berkeley's  obvious  inclination  exclusively  to  the  metaphysical 
side  of  mathematics,  in  these  juvenile  speculations  and  after- 
wards, probably  indisposed  him  to  a  minute  study  of  the  details, 
or  even  of  the  professed  theory,  of  Fluxions  and  of  the  Calculus. 
His  own  psychological  theory  of  physical  points  {minima  semsiUSs) 
must  have  obscured  Newton's  Fluxions,  which  rest  on  a  doctrine 
of  continuity  that  is  hard  to  reconcile  with  Berkeley's  sensible  indi- 
visibles. Perhaps  neither  then  nor  afterwards  did  he  sufficiently 
appreciate  the  radical  antagonism  between  Newton  and  himself  in 
their  whole  way  of  regarding  sensible  quantity.  He  looked  at  it, 
so  to  speak,  statically  j  Newton,  dynamically.  Besides  this, 
Newton,  writing  for  practical  purposes,  leaves  his  own  not  very 
lucid  metaphysical  theory  in  the  background,  which  may  in  part 
explain  why  Berkeley  did  not  directly  criticise,  or  even  recognise 
it.     At  any  rate,  determined  by  his  abhorrence  of  scholastic  ver- 


IE.]  TrMtf.CaU^  Dui&t.  09 

balism  and  empty  abstractions,  he  rejects  infinite  divisibility,  and 
the  whole  mathcmatica]  doctrine  of  incommeiuunUes,  as  ex* 
pressive  of  nothing  that  can  be  resolved  into  idea  of  sense  and 
imagination. 

In  the  memoranda  which  deal  with  Optics  there  SMins  to  be  a 
mixture  of  the  mathematical  and  physiological  with  tfae  ps)rdio- 
logical.  This  shows  that  Berkeley  was  at  that  time  only  ivtekii^ 
his  way  to  the  purely  psychological  mtthod  whidi  at  last  i 
the  one  basis  of  his  New  Theory  of  Vititm.  Internal  C 
,  what  is  experienced  in  the  mental  state  of  stehgy  as  distinguished 
both  from  physiolc^ical  observation  of  the  eye,  and  fhxn  toaHtem 
VaAicaX  reckoning  about  lines  and  angles,  wal  the  fiold  witiiia 
I  he  restricted  himself  at  last. 


The  non- mathematical  speculations,  which  oocui^  \ff  far  ths 
la^r  portion  of  the  Common-place  Book,  are  mostly  concerned 
iritb  Matter  and  its  Qualities,  Space  and  Timt^  Ezisteoce,  Soul, 
God,  and  Duty.  The  nature  of  visible  extension,  and  its  relations 
to  tangible  extension  are  often  remarked  upon,  with  occasional 
hesitation  ab<.iut  details.  But  Berkeley's  mind  everywhere  labours 
under  thf  inspiration  of  a  new  thought,  with  which  it  is  evidently 
charged,  and  ilie  consciousness  of  which  calls  out  ever  and  anon 
tbc  flash  of  philosophical  enthusiasm.  A  new  Principle  is  once 
and  again  referred  to  as  what  bis  soul  was  labouring  with;  and 
this,  notwithstanding  the  opposition  and  ridicule  it  and  its 
applications  might  occasion  among  impatient  thinkers  and  the 
thou^tless,  he  was  resolved  soon  to  discharge  himself  of  through 
the  press,  but  in  as  conciliatory  a  way  as  he  could — ^with  some 
politic  art,  in  short. 

Now  what  is  this  new  Principle?  It  dawns  upon  us  in  the 
Common-place  Book  by  degrees.  When  we  compare  one  expression 
of  it  with  another,  we  find  that  it  implies  neither  more  nor  less 
than  this : — a  conception  of  the  impossibility  of  anything  existing 
in  the  universe  that  is  independent  of  perception  and  volition ;  that 
is  not  either  percipient  and  voluntary,  or  perceived  and  willed. 
This  is  Berkeley's  dualism.  He  vacillates  in  the  abstract  ex- 
pression of  it,  but  it  generally  approaches  this.  All  so-called 
existence  that  cannot  be  resolved  into  this,  is,  he  is  beginning 
to  see,  only  'abstract  idea,'  and  therefore  absurd— to  be  swept 


30  Life  and  Letters  of  .Berkeley.  [cH. 

away  as  sophistry  and  illusion.  He  is  gradually  discovering 
that  the  pressure  of  this  new  Principle,  in  its  various  phases, 
delivers  Science  from  abstract  or  unperceived  Matter  (as  dis- 
tinguished from  sensible  things);  from  abstract  or  unperceived 
Space  (as  distinguished  from  sensibly  extended  things)^  fiom 
abstract  or  unperceived  Time  (as  distinguished  from  perceived 
changes);  Arom  abstract  or  unperceived  Substance  (as  distinguished 
from  our  personal  consciousness);  and  from  abstract  or  un- 
perceived Cause  (as  distinguished  from  free  voluntary  agency). 
It  is  the  same  Principle  which  in  mathematics,  with  a  dim  con- 
ception of  it,  he  found  to  press  hard  against  incommensurability 
and  infinite  divisibility.  At  times  he  is  in  awe  of  its  tremendous 
consequences,  and  of  the  shock  which  these  may  occasion  when 
it  is  proclaimed  to  a  learned  world  which  had  long  tried  to  feed 
itself  upon  abstractions.  But  he  is  resolved,  nevertheless,  to 
employ  it  for  purging  science  and  sustaining  faith. 

Here,  more  intensely,  but  not  more  really,  than  in  Berke- 
ley's mathematical  jottings,  one  feels  the  presence  of  the  spirit 
of  scientific  independence,  the  parent  of  all  discovery,  in  whidi 
only  a  few  can  sympathise,  and  which  is  ever  in  antagonism 
to  the  unintelligent  mediocrity,  by  which  discovery  has  been 
crushed  or  retarded.  It  was  the  same  spirit  as  that  which  moved 
Des  Cartes,  and  Spinoza,  and  Locke,  in  the  time  preceding^  or 
Hume  and  Kant  in  time  that  followed,  and  which  moves  all  who 
leave  their  mark  on  the  course  of  human  thought. 

A  few  examples  of  the  philosophical  remarks  in  the  Com- 
mon-place Book,  taken  from  the  chaos  in  which  the  reader 
finds  them  there,  and  arranged  in  groups,  may  help  to  show  the 
state  of  Berkeley's  mind  about  this  time.  The  reader  may 
enlarge  the  size  of  each  of  the  following  groups,  and  add  some 
new  ones,  by  a  study  of  the  Common-place  Book  itself,  in 
another  part  of  this  volume.  There  is  a  freshness  in  the  very 
immaturity  of  the  thoughts.  Here  are  some  regarding  the  im- 
portance of  his  new  Principle : — 

*  The  reverse  of  the  Principle  I  take  to  have  been  the  chief  source 
of  all  that  scepricism  and  folly — all  those  contradictory  and  inex- 
tricable puzzling  absurdities,  that  have  in  all  ages  been  a  reproach 
to  human  reason;    as  well  as   of  the   idolatry,  whether  of  images 


|l]  Trmify  CeUige^  Dublin.  3t 

or  of  God»  ffaH  faEnd  die  gmrten  part  of  tbe  ivorid;  as  well  as  of  that 

ihaBiAd  inmendhf  that  turns  va  into  beasls. I  know  there  ia 

a  aijfthlji  aoct  of  men  wBl  oppose  me. I  am  yoong,  I  am  an 

aprtar^  I  am  vani.  Veiy  wdl,  I  diall  endeavour  patiently  to  bear  up 
nder  die  moat  fcaaening»  idifying  aiq[>eUitfion8  the  pride  and  ragr  of 
man.  caQ  deviaew  Bot  one  dung  I  know  I  am  not  giul^  of.  .  1 46  not 
pin  Bf  Udi  on  die  ideeve  of  anjr  great  man.  I  act  not  out  of  {mjudioe 
or  pvepoaaeaakm.  '  I  do  not  adhoe  to  ai^  opinion  because  it  is  an 
old  one^  or  %  leviied  cme,  or  a  fiidnonaUe  one,  or  one  that  I  have  spent 

wmik  doe  in  tlie  atodjr  and  cultivation  kX If  in  some,  tidng^ 

I  dUfcr  from  a  pfaiksopiier  I  prc^fess  to  admire,^  it  is  for  that  very  thing 
OB  aooout  of  wfaidi  I  admiie  him,  namely,  the  tove  of  troth.' 

Then  we  have  ^mpaes  of  the  Principle  itself,  more  distinct 
as  it  takes  fUler  possession  of  him,  while  he  revolves  it  in  his 
innHgnts:— 

'Mem.  Diiigendy  to  set  fcmh  that  many  of  the  ancient  phitosoidiers 
mn  mto  so  great  absmdides  aa  to  deny  the  existence  of  motion  and 
dnse  odier  dmigs  they  perceived  actually  by  their  senses.  This  sprung 
from  their  not  knowing  what  Existence  was,  or  wherein  it  consisted. 
This  is  the  source  of  their  folly.  'Tis  on  the  discovery  of  the  nature 
and  meaning  and  import  of  Existence  that  I  chiefly  insist.  This  puts 
the  wide  difference  betwixt  the  Sceptics  and  me.     This  I  think  wholly 

new.     I  am  sure  this  is  new  in  me I  take  not  away  Substances. 

I  ought  not  to  be  accused  of  discarding  Substance  out  of  the  reasonable 
world.  I  only  reject  the  philosophic  sense,  which  is  in  effect  nonsense, 
of  die  word  Substance.  Ask  a  man,  not  tainted  with  their  jargon,  what 
he  means  by  corporeal  Substance,  or  the  Substance  of  body.  He  shall 
answer — bulk,  solidity,  and  suchlike  sensible  qualities.  These  I  retain. 
The  philosophic  nequid,  nequanHim,  fuquale^  whereof  I  have  no  idea, 
I  discard — ^if  a  man  may  be  said  to  discard  that  which  never  had  any 
being,  was  never  so  much  as  imagined  or  conceived.  In  short/  he  adds, 
(as  it  were  in  a  soliloquy  of  agonised  earnestness), '  be  not  angry.  You  lose 
nothing,  whether  real  or  chimerical,  whichever  you  in  any  wise  conceive 
or  imagine,  be  it  never  so  wild,  so  extravagant,  so  absurd.  Much  good 
may  it  do  you.  I  am  more  for  reality  than  any  other.  Philosophers, 
diey  make  a  thousand  doubts,  and  know  not  certainly  but  we  may  be 

deceived.      I  assert  the  direct  contrary The  philosophers  talk 

nmch  <A  a  distinction  'twixt  absolute  and  relative  things,  and  'twixt  things 
considered  in  their  own  nature  and  the  same  things  considered  with 


32  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

respect  to  us.    I  know  not  what  they  mean  by  "  things  considered  in 

themselves."    This  is  nonsense,  jargon • .     Thing  and  idea  arc 

much-what  words  of  the  same  extent  and  meaning. ...     By  idea  I  mean 

any  sensible  or  imaginable  thing Time  a  sensation;  therefore 

only  in  the  mind.  . . .    Extension  a  sensation;   therefore  only  in  the 

mind A  thing  not  perceived  is  a  contradiction Existence 

is  not  conceivable  without  perception  or  volition.  .  . .  Let  it  not  be  said 
that  I  take  away  existence.  I  only  declare  the  meaning  of  the  word, 
so  far  as  I  can  comprehend  it .  . .  What  means  cause,  as  distinguished 
from  occasion  ?    Nothing  but  a  being  which  wills,  when  the  effect  follows 

the  volition There  is  nothing  active  but  spirit.  .  . .     Existence 

is  perceiving  and  willing,  or  being  perceived  and  willed.      Soul  is 

the    will    only,   and    is    distinct    from    ideas Existence   not 

conceivable  without  perception  or  volition,  not  distinguishable  there- 
from. . . .  Every  idea  has  a  cause,  i.  e.  is  produced  by  a  will. ...  Say 
you,  there  must  be  a  thinking  substance — something  unknown,  whidi 
perceives,  and  supports,  and  ties  together  the  ideas.  Say  I,  Make  it 
appear  that  there  is  any  need  of  it,  and  you  shall  have  it  for  me.  I 
care  not  to  take  away  anything  I  can  see  the  least  reason  to  think  should 
exist' 

And  so  the  Principle  is  turned  round  and  round  in  Berkeley's 
musings.  He  finds  himself,  under  its  pressure,  resolving  Sub> 
stance  and  Cause,  Space  and  Time,  into  modifications  and  rela* 
tions  of  living  perception,  and  of  what  is  sensibly  perceived 
by  a  living  percipient  j  or  into  the  volitions  of  a  conscious 
agent,  and  into  their  sensible  effects. 

The  Principle  banishes  scepticism,  he  thinks,  because  it  means 
that  the  real  things  themselves,  and  not  their  supposed  effects,  or  the 
representations  (possibly  fallacious)  of  an  unperceived  archetypal 
Something,  are  what  we  are  conscious  or  percipient  of  in  the 
senses : — 

'  Ideas  of  sense  are  the  real  things  or  archetypes.  Ideas  of  imagina* 
tion — dreams,  &c.,  are  copies,  images  of  these.  . . .  Say  Des  Cartes  and 
Malebranche :  God  both  gives  us  strong  inclinations  to  think  our  ideas 
proceed  from  bodies,  and  that  bodies  do  exist.  What  mean  theybf 
this  ?  Would  they  have  it  that  the  ideas  of  imagination  are  images  ofi 
and  proceed  from,  the  ideas  of  sense  ?  This  is  true,  but  cannot  be  thdr 
meaning ;  for  they  speak  of  ideas  of  sense  proceeding  from,  being  like 
unto— I  know  not  what I  am  the  farthest  from  scepticism  of  any 


y  THmty^  CoUtg0,  DuiUm.  33 

mb  Ifamrvkkan  h^stne  kninriedge  the  ezfitence  of  other  dnngt 
»;«d  M  Bf  o«B  sodL  Tfab  !■  lAat  Locke,  nor  tcwce  aajadier 
pUl«  pfafloiKiplier,  win  pretend  to.* 

IW  oonuiKm  mxffoA^oa:  tiiat  we  actually  mt  things  oistiiig 
•iAcMt  na  in  an  ambient  spKe  is  likely,  Berkeley  anticipates,  to 
•  one  great  ofaatiuction  to  an  accqitaace  oiF  the  Prind^.  Tliis 
MmlUuu  be  enoowtets  in  these  aoliloquie^  as  one  mi^  call 
ten.  In  an  cnficaa  Tariety  of  waya: — 

>  The  common  error  of  the  opticians,  that  we  Jndge  (rf*  '*'■*■'■"  by 
ngles,  strengthens  men  in  their  prejudice  that  diey  see  things  witboot, 
nd  distant  from,  their  mind. .  . .    Extension  to  ez^  in  a  dibig  void  of 

erception  a  contradiction Extension,  dKxi^  it  ezilt  dnfy  \a  the 

lind,  is  jet  no  property  of  the  mind ;  the  mind  can  exist  witiboot  it, 
liough  it  cannot  without  the  mind.  .  . .  Tangible  and  via&le  extension 
eierogeneous,  because  they  have  no  common  measore,  and  abo  because 
heir  simplest  constituent  parts  are  specifically  different,  i  e.  pmittKm 
•itibile  and  langibile. .  . .  Extension  seems  to  be  percrived  hf  the  e^ 
ts  thought  by  the  ear.  ...  I  saw  gladness  in  bis  looks;  I  saw  shame 
n  his  face.    So  I  see  figure  or  distance.' 

Then  we  have  allusions  to  the  theory  that  thought  or  meaning 
pervades  the  whole  sensible  world,  that  an  interpretable  language 
is  given  especially  in  all  visible  phenomena: — 

'  Were  there  but  one  and  the  same  language  in  the  world,  and  did 
i^dren  speak  it  naturally  as  soon  as  born,  and  were  it  not  in  the  power 
)f  men  to  conceal  their  thoughts  or  deceive  others,  but  that  there  were 
m  insuperable  connexion  between  words  and  thoughts,  Qu.  Would  not 
oen  think  that  they  heard  thoughts  as  much  as  that  they  see  extension?' 

But  the  antithesis  to  the  Principle,  and  in  Berkeley's  eye,  the 
;reat  root  of  intellectual  evil,  is  the  phantom  of  Abstract  Ideas, 
n  ^>stractions  and  their  scholastic  verbiage,  all  the  absurdities 
nd  contradictions  which  retard  science  and  nourish  scepticism 
eemed  to  him  to  find  cover. 

'  The  chief  thing  I  do,  or  pretend  to  do,  is  only  to  remove  the  mist  or 
hi  of  words.  This  has  occauoned  ignorance  and  confusion.  This 
vou  IV.  D 


34  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

has  ruined  the  schoohnen  and  mathematicians^  lawyers  and  divines. . . . 
If  men  would  lay  aside  words  in  thinking,  'tis  impossible  they  should 
ever  mistake,  save  only  in  matters  of  fact.' 

And  then,  in  the  more  advanced  parts,  in  reviewing  what  his 
thoughts  have  led  him  to : — 

'  My  speculations  have  the  same  effect  as  visiting  foreign  countrieSi 
In  the  end  I  return  where  I  was  before ;  yet  my  heart  at  ease,  and  en* 
joying  myself  with  more  satisfaction.  . .  .  The  philosophers  lose  thdr 
matter ;  the  mathematicians  lose  their  insensible  sensations ;  the  profane 
lose  their  extended  Deity.  Pray  what  do  the  rest  of  mankind  lose  ?  As 
for  bodies,  we  have  them  still.  The  future  metaphysic  and  mathematic 
gain  vastly  by  the  bargain.  . .  .  The  whole  directed  to  practice  and 
morality,  as  appears — i.  From  making  manifest  the  nearness  and  omnir 
presence  of  God ;  2.  From  cutting  oflf  the  useless  labour  of  sciences  and 
so  forth.' 

The  Common-place  Book,  from  which  these  examples  are 
arranged,  is  among  the  most  interesting  revelations  whidi 
philosophical  biography  affords  of  the  rise  of  reflection  in  a 
mind  of  extraordinary  ingenuity  and  intrepidity.  No  candid 
reader  will  forget  that  in  these  records  of  Berkeley's  inner  history, 
at  or  about  the  age  of  twenty,  we  have  the  miscellaneous  out- 
pourings of  an  ardent  youth,  in  rapid  intellectual  growth,  placing 
on  paper,  for  the  writer's  own  further  consideration,  the  random 
speculations  of  the  hour,  without  a  thought  of  their  meeting  the 
public  eye  nearly  a  hundred  and  seventy  years  afterwards.  TKat 
this  mathematical  and  philosophical  Miscellany  is  in  all  its  parts 
consistent  with  itself,  only  vulgar  ignorance  could  anticipate. 
Those  who  at  all  understand  the  struggles  of  one  young  in  years, 
loving  truth  for  its  own  sake,  pregnant  with  a  great  thought  by 
which  the  whole  of  life  and  existence  seem  to  be  simplified,  will 
pardon  some  real,  as  well  as  some  seeming  inconsistency  in 
casual  memoranda  of  temporary  results  reached  by  the  labouring 
mind.  We  have  the  rudiments  of  the  more  orderly,  if  less  fresh 
and  outspoken,  revelation  which  was  made  through  the  press  in 
the  years  immediately  following. 

The  Common-place  Book  helps  us  also  to  trace  some  of  Berkeley's 
reading  in  his  early  years  at  College.  His  central  thought  was 
indeed  essentially  self-originated.     There  is  internal  evidence  of 


Trinily  ColUge,  Dublin.  35 

we  also  sec  that  Locke  was  the  prevailing  external 

in  putting  him,  as  it  were,  into  position  for  reflection, 

he  proceeded  in  his  intellectual  work  on  the  basis  of 

italcs  which  he  partly  borrowed  from  Locke,  and  partly  as- 

in  antagonism  to  him.     In  his  early  philosophy  he  was 

kc's  successor,  somewhat  as  Fichte  was  the  successor  of  Kant. 

Ctiticising  the  Essay  on  Haman  VntiersttniJiwg,  he  makes  Locke 

re  consistent  with  himself,  and  occupiesa  position  which  is  partly 

immediate  consequence  of  the  one  his  predecessor  had  taken. 

il  human  knowledge  may  be  analysed  into  ideas  or  personal 

icnces  of  things,  and  that  the  secondary  qualities  of  matter, 

ing  irlattvc  or  muublc,  arc  only  ideas  or  personal  experiences, 

the  position  of  Locke.     That   the   primary  as  well  as  the 

■coodary  qualities  of  Matter,  tc^cther  with  Space  and  Time,  all 

like  manner  relative  and  mutable,  arc  sensations,  or  relations 

sensations;    and   that,   thus,   Matter,   Time,   and   Space   are 

:al  or  phenomenal   in   their  very  essence,  was   the  first  con- 

Bion  reached  by  Berkeley.     He  was  feeling  his  way  to  it  in 

!  Ownmon-place  Book,  and  treating  Locke  as  a  patron  of 

diolastic  verbalism  because  he  did  not  receive  it. 

Many  other  names  as  well  as  Locke's  meet  us  in  the  Common- 

Kc    Book.     Dzs  Cartes,   Nlalcbranchc,  Hobbes,   and  Spinoza, 

Bcur    often  J    Newton,   Barrow,    and   Wailis,   now   and    then; 

cibattz,   Le  Clerc,  Dc  Vries,  Sergeant,   Bayle,  Molyncux,  and 

ooce  or  twice;  seldom  the  ancients  or  the  schoolmen. 


Bcrltclcy's  ardour  and  earnestness  of  purpose,  joined  to  his 
ivacious  imagination,  disposed  him  to  become  an  author  at  an 
if  age,  and  to  expose  to  the  criticism  of  the  world  the  con- 
epUoo  with  which  he  was  struggling  in  these  early  years  at 
'riaity  College.  He  first  appeared  in  print  in  a  modest  way, 
short  time  before  he  took  his  Master's  d.'grec.  Early  in  1707, 
»o  tracts— one  an  attempt  to  demonstiate  arithmetic  without 
help  of  Euclid  or  of  algebra,  and  the  other  consisting  of 
Its  on  some  questions  in  mathematics,  both  written  in  Latin, 
kI  published  at  London — were  attributed  on  llie  title-page  to 
Bubctor  of  Arts  in  Trinity  College,  Dublin.  Ever  since,  and 
Mrithoal  dispute,  they  have  been  assigned  to  Berkeley.  They  are 
contained  in  all  the  editions  of  his  collected  works.     And  this 


36  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley,  [ch. 

evidence  is  now  confirmed  by  various  coincidences  and   corre- 
sponding passages  in  the  Common-place  Book. 

One  source  of  more  than  mathematical  interest  in  these  two 
tracts  is  the  illustration  they  give  of  Berkeley's  constitutional 
tendency  to  what  is  novel  and  eccentric — a  tendency  inseparable, 
in  some  d^ree,  from  every  genuine  discoverer  in  science,  bat 
which  his  characteristic  impetuosity  was  sometimes  apt  to  carry 
to  an  extreme  that  frustrates  discovery.  They  are  interest!]^ 
too  for  the  enthusiasm  they  show  in  mathematical  studies^ 
and  as  an  index  of  Berkeley's  knowledge  of  that  science  when 
he  was  not  twenty  years  of  age.  Though  published  in  1707, 
they  were  written,  as  the  Preface  informs  us,  nearly  three  years 
before — perhaps  at  an  early  stage  in  his  studies  for  a  Fellowship. 
The  allusions  to  Bacon,  Des  Cartes,  Malebranche,  Locke,  NewtODj 
Sir  W.  Temple,  and  the  Philosophical  Transactions,  confirm  what 
we  now  know  from  other  sources  of  the  direction  of  his  early 
reading.  The  Arithmtthm  is  dedicated  to  William  Palliser,  and 
the  Miscellanea  Mathematica  to  his  young  friend  Samuel  Molyneu]^ 
the  son  of  Locke's  friend  and  disciple. 


Three  other  years  elapsed  before  Berkeley  was .  prepared  to 
announce  to  the  world  the  great  thought  with  which  we  have 
found  him  labouring  for  years.  He  presented  it  at  first  under 
cover,  in  a  one-sided  way — unsatisfactory,  even  so  far  as  it  went 
The  "Essay  towards  a  Nev  Theory  of  Vision^  with  Berkeley's  name 
on  the  title-page,  appeared  early  in  1709.  It  was  an  attempt 
towards  the  psychology  of  our  sensations,  but  directed  immediately 
to  the  most  comprehensive  sense  of  all,  and  intended  to  eradicate 
a  deeply-rooted  prejudice.  If  it  halts  in  its  metaphysics,  and  if 
its  physiology  is  defective,  it  proclaims  in  psycholc^  what  has 
since  been  accepted  as  a  great  discovery,  which  involves  subtle 
applications  of  the  laws  of  mental  association  in  the  formation 
of  habits. 

The  analytic  parts  of  the  Essay  show  the  absolute  hetero- 
geneity of  what  we  see  and  what  we  touch.  The  explanation 
of  the  synthesis  of  these  heterogeneous  elements  by  means  of 
arbitrary  association  is  its  constructive  part.  In  this  analysis 
and  theory  Berkeley  is  original  in  the  rigour  of  his  distinction 


b 


Trinily  College^  Dublin. 


n 


ween  the  seen  and  the  felt,  and  also  in  the  extent  to  which 

carries  subjective  and  objective  association   as  a  solvent  of 

UDily  which  we  make  and  find  in   individual  stones,  trees, 

^les,  and  nthcr  sensible  things.     The  book   is  much  occupied 

illustrating  the   arbitrariness  of  association   among   percepts 

sight  and  touch.     It   is   inferred   from  this  arbitrariness  that 

hesc  associations,  commonly  called  laws  of  nature,  are  founded 

Supreme  Will,  and  not  in  materialistic  necessity.     That  the 

trious  natural  laws,  of  which  physical  science  is  the  discovery, 

the  sensible  expression  of  an  intending  Will  is  its  domi- 

|nt  conception.     Further,  that  sensible   phenomena — those  ele- 

ients  of  which  sensible  things  are  the  associated  aggregates,  and 

which  we  are  assumed  to  be  immediately  percipient — may  be 

nalyscd  into   minima  imslii/iaj  which  are  connected  into  aggre- 

les,  not  by  unperceived  substances  and  causes,  but  in  mind, 

d  by  means  of  voluntary  agency,  is  undoubtedly  the  philosophy 

lich  underlies  the  Eisaj.     A  distinct  expression  of  the  philo- 

>hy  is  needed,  however,  in  order  to  make  the  Esfay  obviously 

imsistent  with  itself.     Now,  this  implied  philosophy  is  neither 

3TC  nor  less  than  the  new  Principle  already  privately  expressed 

the  Common-place  Book. 

In  the  Essay  of  1709,  the  Berkeleian  Principle  is  applied  to  sight 
X  not  to  touch.  Tangible  phenomena  are  left  in  undisturbed 
of  a  kind  of  reality  that  is  inconsistent  with  it,  while 
irisiblc  phenomena  arc  subjected  to  its  sway.  The  reason  for 
this  partial  application  of  what,  if  applicable  at  all,  was  to 
ke  universally  applied,  lay  probably  in  Berkeley's  unwillingness 
shock  the  world  with  a  conception  of  its  own  existence 
inst  which  he  anticipated  a  storm  of  opposition.  Its  actual 
Hcct  has  been  to  expose  the  New  Theory  of  Vision  to  criti- 
JKns  not  in  all  cases  undeserved.  This  reserve  of  a  foregone 
Miclusiun  makes  Berkeley's  first  essay  on  philosophy  his  least 
rtistic.  Its  main  conclusion  cannot  be  fully  comprehended 
irttbout  the  New  Principle,  and  yet  the  New  Principle  is  held  in 
(Serve.  Hence  the  acute  reasoning  is  apt  to  lose  itself  in  a 
taos  of  details,  unrelieved  by  the  ultimate  constructive  thought 
pquired  to  form  them  into  a  philosophy. 

The  question  of  the  Essay  comes  to  this : — What  is  really  meant 
If  our  treimg  things  in  ambient  space  ?     Berkeley's  answer,  when 


38  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

developed,  may  be  put  thus: — What,  before  we  reflected,  wc 
had  supposed  to  be  a  seeing  of  real  things,  is  not  seeing  really 
extended  things  at  all,  but  only  seeing  something  that  is  coit- 
stantly  connected  with  their  extension:  what  is  vulgarly  called 
seeing  them  is  in  fact  reading  about  them :  when  we  arc  every 
day  using  our  eyes,  we  are  virtually  interpreting  a  book :  ¥rtien 
by  sight  we  are  determining  for  ourselves  the  actual  distances^ 
sizes,  shapes,  and  situations  of  things,  we  are  simply  translatii^ 
the  words  of  the  Universal  and  Divine  Language  of  the  Senses. 

It  is  of  course  difficult  fully  and  constantly  to  realise  this,  to 
dissolve  the  prejudice  which  obscured  it,  and  to  distinguish  what 
we  see  from  the  meaning  of  what  we  see.  But  then  this  difficulty 
is  not  peculiar,  Berkeley  would  say,  to  the  visual,  or  to  any  other 
sensible  language.  It  is  common  to  the  language  of  nature  with 
all  artificial  languages.  For  instance,  it  is  not  found  easy  to 
read  an  intelligible  and  interesting  sentence  in  a  book,  in  the 
state  of  mental  vacancy  one  is  in  when  one  reads  a  sentence  ia 
an  unknown  language.  Yet  the  connection  between  visible  or 
audible  signs,  and  their  meanings,  in  any  artificial  language,  is 
not  a  constant  and  universal  association.  There  are  hundreds  of 
artificial  languages  in  the  world.  There  is  only  one  visual  or 
natural  language.  We  find  it  difficult  to  disentangle  the  mere 
signs  from  their  meanings  in  any  of  the  artificial  languages  we 
are  acquainted  with.  We  may  therefore  expect  it  to  be  impos- 
sible (as  we  find  it  to  be)  to  separate  a  visual  sign  from  the 
signification  which  universal  experience  and  habit  have  wrapped 
up  in  it.  Berkeley's  Essay  invites  us  to  recognise  the  differ- 
ence between  the  visual  sign  and  its  meaning,  even  when  we 
cannot  actually  make  a  separation  between  them  in  imagina- 
tion. It  sets  before  us  the  visible  signs  on  the  one  hand, 
and  their  meanings  on  the  other.  Throughout  it  is  an  appeal 
to  reflection  and  mental  experiment.  Varieties  of  colour  or 
coloured  extension  are  the  only  proper  objects  of  sight.  Nothing 
else  can  be  seen.  Now  extended  colours,  together  with  certain 
muscular  affections  in  the  eye,  are,  under  the  arbitrarily  estab- 
lished system  of  nature,  the  signs  of  varieties  of  felt  extension. 
That  is  to  say,  they  are  signs  of  what  are  usually  called  the  rw/ 
distances,  sizes,  shapes,  and  situations  of  things.  Now,  our  visual 
experience   of  quantities   and   qualities   of   colour,  and   of    the 


0 


Trinity  College^  Dublin. 


organic  sensations  in  the  c'^c.,  is  what  enables  us  to  foresee,  with 
more  or  less  accuracy,  what  our  experience  in  feeling  and  in 
Bloving  our  bodies  is  to  be  in  any  particular  case.  Real  dis- 
iDCc  from  the  eye  outwards,  as  well  as  real  size,  shape, 
uk)  situation,  are  absolutely  invisible:  we  can  see  their  signs 
only. 

All  this,  according  to  Berkeley,  may  be  proved  intuitively  to 
those  who  take  the  trouble  to  reflect.     He  announced  the  dis- 
covery as  one  founded  on  a  strict  analysis  of  the  facts,  the  whole 
fects,  and  nothing  but  the  facts  to  which  we  arc  conscious  in  our 
sense  perceptions.   The  only  difficulties  he  could  find  connected  with 
il  were,  the  difficulty  of  separatii^  what  invariable  experience  has    , 
united  in  our  thoughts,  and  the  difficulty  of  finding  artificial  Ian-    , 
piage  pure  and  precise  enough  to  express  his  meaning.     Till  we 
have  apprehended  this  analysis  by  reflection,  however,  we  have  not    ' 
learned  our  6ret  lesson  in  the  psychotc^  of  the  senses.     When 
we  have  done  so,  he  is  ready  with  a  theory  which  treats  vision 
as  a  Divine   Book  that  contains  more  surprising  and  profound 
lessons  than  any  human  book  can  contain.     When  we  seem  to 
be   seeing,  we  arc  really  reading  an   illuminated  Book  of  God, 
which,  in  literal  truth,  is  a  Book  of  Prophecy. 

This,  I  think,  is  the  outcome  of  this  juvenile  Essay.  But  1 
its  want  of  artistic  unity  and  completeness,  and  its  dispro- 
pmttoned  digressions  and  applications^  resulting  paitly  from 
Berkeley's  inexperience  as  an  author,  and  partly  from  the  cir- 
cumstance that  the  Theory  is  sustained  by  a  Principle  in  the 
ciprcssion  of  which  the  author  is,  I  think,  restraining  himself — 
make  this  psychological  Essay,  in  its  actual  form,  an  inconvenient 
introduction  to  the  metaphysical  philosophy,  for  one  who  is 
ignorant  of  Berkeley's  great  central  thought. 

It  is  not  here  that  any  critical  observations  should  be  offered 
upon  the  Theory  of  Vision,  which  indeed  in  1709  was  only  partly  j 
developed  by  Berkeley.  One  is  here  looking  at  this  and  his  other 
early  writings,  only  as  an  unfolding  of  his  intellectual  life,  in 
modes  which  must  be  undersKxx]  before  its  ulterior  evolutions  can 
be  well  comprehended  by  the  analyst  of  his  intellectual  character. 
!  have  tried  elsewhere,  in  prefatory  observations  and  subse- 
quent .annotations,  to  explain  the  logical  structure  of  the  Essay  I 
Ml  yisian.    The  reader  will  find  that  a  great  part  of  it  is  taken 


40  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

up  in  determining  what  are  the  true  visible  and  felt  signs  of  the 

real  distances,  signs,   and  situations  of  things,  in  contrast  to 

sCMralled   *  sights'  which  are  not  seen  at  all,   but  are   merely 
^suggestions'  occasioned  by  what  is  visible. 

That  the  Esssy  towards  s  New  Theory  rf  Visiom  attracted  some 
attention  on  its  appearance,  we  may  infer  from  its  reaching  a 
second  edition  before  the  end  of  the  year.  With  this  pioneer  in 
1709,  Berkeley,  in  17 10,  in  a  Treatise  concerning  the  Principles  of 
Human  Knowledge^  boldly  announced  the  great  conception  of  which 
for  years  he  had  been  full. 

This  book  is  a  systematic  assault  upon  scholastic  abstrac- 
tions, especially  upon  abstract  or  unperceived  Matter,  Space,  and 
Time.  It  assumes  that  these  are  the  main  cause  of  confusion 
and  difficulty  in  the  sciences,  and  of  materialistic  Atheism. 
The  new  Principle,  in  its  various  phases  and  applications,  is 
offered  as  the  effectual  means  of  cleansing  the  human  mind 
from  these  abstractions.  He  finds  philosophers  all  taking  for 
granted  the  existence  of  a  dead,  unperceived,  and  unimagin- 
able Something,  of  indefinite  power  and  capability.  They  had 
concealed  the  intrinsic  absurdity  of  the  supposition,  by  calling 
its  object  an  abstract  idea— something  that,  as  an  *idea,'  must 
be  knowable  in  sense  and  imagination^  but  that,  as  ^abstract,' 
could  only  be  known  with  difficulty.  Accordingly,  as  it  was 
with  abstract  ideas  that  philosophy  was  held  to  be  concerned, 
philosophers  invented  a  number  of  abstract  words,  and  these  words 
got  into  general  circulation.  Then,  to  this  unknown  Something, 
under  the  name  of  Matter,  they  attributed  indefinite  powers, 
and  under  cover  of  its  powers,  some  of  them  pretended  to  explain 
the  human  mind,  and  supposed  that  all  the  conscious  life  in  the 
universe  might  be  accounted  for  by  the  dark  abstraction.  Thus, 
under  the  abstractions  of  Space,  Time,  and  Number,  the  mathe- 
maticians, he  thought,  had  lost  themselves  in  doctrines  about 
infinite  divisibility,  and  other  forms  of  words  without  meaning. 
Locke's  imperfect  reformation  from  Scholasticism,  as  Berkeley 
regarded  it,  added  the  sanction  even  of  modern  philosophy 
to  the  hypothesis  that  unperceived  Matter  is  the  cause  of  our 
perceptions.  He  complains,  accordingly,  that  Locke  sanctions 
abstract  ideas  ^  that  he  recognises  substance,  or,  as  we  might 


Trinity  College,  Dublin. 


41 


,  Ae  thin 


i-itsclf:    and 


distinguishes  this  from 
which  alone  we  see  and  touch.  With 
ckc,  as  with  philosophers  generally,  the  tliing-in-itself 
the  real  thing ;  what  wc  see  and  touch  only  an  ideal 
istitute  for  the  real  thing.  The  reality,  he  tells  us,  we  can 
rer  reach. 

tcason  itself,  Berkeley  now  proclaims,  is  at  war  with  these 
imptions.  They  are  empty  words.  Reason  requires  us  to 
irn  to  what  is  concrete  and  to  abide  there.  Beyond  this  we 
ftod  nothing,  because  beyond  this  nothing  exists.  All  that 
[ts,  or  can  exist,  is  the  mental  experience  of  persons.  It  must 
sist  of  living  persons,  the  ideas  or  phenomena  of  which  they 
conscious,  the  voluntary  activity  which  they  exercise,  and  the 
•xxs,  of  that  activity.  The  actual  universe  must  be  made  up 
that.  Human  knowledge  of  the  actual  universe  is  all  at  last 
llTcd  into  that.  Whatever  is  not  so  resolvable,  must  be  an 
traction,  and  therefore  a  delusion.  The  common  convic- 
1  of  scientific,  and  also  of  unscientific,  men  about  the  need 
causes,  and  for  an  ultimate  cause,  of  all  actual  changes  in 
wotkj  are  acknowledged  by  Berkeley  as  they  were  before, 
be  asks  us  to  reflect  that  the  universe,  regarded  as  a  con- 
es of  eficcts,  and  in  itsultimatecause,  consists,  and  can  consist 
^  of  living  persons,  the  ideas  or  phenomena  which  they  have, 
i  the  ^-oluntary  activity  which  they  exercise.  It  follows  that  the 
rrsally  acknowledged  ultimate  cause  cannot  be  the  empty 
traction  called  Matter.  There  must  be  living  mind  at  the  root 
Mind  must  be  the  very  substance  and  consistence  and 
of  whatever  is.  In  recognising  this  wondrous  Principle,  life 
impti6ed  to  him;  light  finds  its  way  into  the  darkest  corner, 
sciences  are  relieved  from  the  abstractions  which  choked  them. 
Igious  ftiith  in  Universal  Mind  becomes  the  highest  expression 
leflcctivc  reason.  This  supreme  Principle  virtually  becomes 
teley's  Method  of  Thought.  His  first  step  in  philosophy  is 
wm  the  habit  of  thinking  the  universe  under  its  regulation. 
It  how  do  we  know  that  it  is  true?  This,  Berkeley  plainly 
»C3,  is  not  so  much  to  be  argued  from  premisses  as  accepted 
1^  in^iration — through  its  own  intuitive  light.  'Some  truths 
aie  so  near  and  obvious  to  the  mind,'  he  says,  *that  a  man 
ooIjDpen  his  eyes  to  sec  them.'    'Such,'  he  adds, '  I  take  this 


42  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch, 

important  one  to  be — that  all  the  choir  of  heaven  and  furniture 
of  the  earth,  in  a  word,  all  those  bodies  which  compose  the 
mighty  frame  of  the  world,  have  not  any  subsistence  without 
a  mind ;  that  their  esse  is  to  be  perceived  or  known ;  that,  con- 
sequently, so  long  as  they  are  not  actually  perceived  by  me,  or 
do  not  exist  in  my  mind,  or  that  of  any  other  created  spirit, 
they  must  either  have  no  existence  at  all,  or  else  subsist  in  the 
mind  of  some  Eternal  Spirit;  it  being  perfectly  unintelligible^ 
and  involving  all  the  mystery  of  abstraction,  to  attribute  to 
any  single  part  of  them  an  existence  independent  of  a  spirit* 
That  the  universe  must  be  the  personal  experience  of  living 
mind  is  thus  proclaimed  with  all  the  light  and  evidence  of  an 
axiom. 

That  the  actual  phenomena,  or  Ide^s  (as  Berkeley  calls  them)  of 
which  the  external  universe  consists  are  all  determined  in  their 
co-existences  and  successions  by  more  or  less  reasonable  volitions; 
that  voluntary  activity  is  the  only  possible  cause  of  whatever 
happens;  and  that  the  ideal  world  present  in  our  senses  cannot 
itself  contain  power  or  causality,  is  a  phase  of  the  Principle  wfaidi 
is  less  clearly  dealt  with  by  him  than  the  former.  It,  too,  seems, 
like  the  other,  to  be  accepted  as  an  intuition  of  reason,  which, 
on  reflection,  flashes  upon  us  by  inspiration.  But  here  Berkeley 
avoids  an  exact  statement. 

The  reader  who  wants  to  watch  the  yoimg  Fellow  of  Trinity 
College  defending  and  applying  his  new  conception  in  the  presence 
of  the  public  must  study  the  Principles.  It  would  be  difficult  to 
name  a  book  in  ancient  or  modern  philosophy  which  contains 
more  fervid  and  ingenious  reasoning  than  is  here  employed  to 
meet  supposed  objections,  or  to  unfold  possible  applications  to 
religion  and  science.  An  eager  spirit  glows  beneath  the  calm 
surface,  hardly  restrained  from  undue  expression. 

The  book  of  Principles  published  in  1710  is  called  *Part  1 5' 
*Part  II'  never  appeared.  We  can  only  conjecture  what  the 
unfinished  design  was.  Neither  the  book  itself,  nor  any  of  Berke- 
ley's other  writings  informs  us.  As  *Part  I'  was  dropped  from 
the  title-page  and  the  running  titles  in  the  later  editions,  it 
appears  that  the  design,  at  least  in  this  form,  was  abandoned.  j 

There  is,  however,  philosophical  room  for  a  Second  Part. 
Berkeley's  book,  as  we  now  have  it,  unfolds  his  central  thought 


Trinily  College,  Dublin. 


L  its  applications  to  what  he  ca!!s  Utas — in  short,  to  sensible 
hings.  But  the  theory  of  mind  and  its  »o//oiw— concerned  with 
msible  things,  yet  distinguished  from  them — is  not  made  so 
istinct:  it  has  hardly  been  expressed,  and  it  is  certainly  not 
Forked  out.  Finite  minds,  and  their  personal  identity;  their 
elatioos  to  one  another,  and  to  Supreme  Mind  in  which  they 
1  to  participate;  the  notions  of  pure  intellect  —  as  distin- 
Mishcd  from  the  original  ideas  of  sense,  and  the  subjective  ideas 
F  imagination — are  left  unexamined.  Berkeley's  whole  doctrine 
f  abstraction,  and  of  the  distinction  between  notions  and  ideas, 
I  1710,  left  in  an  unsatisfactory  state.  Whether  there  arc 
locreated  necessities  of  thinking,  according  to  which  all  mental 
xpericnce  of  ideas  must  evolve  itself  in  every  mind,  is  a  ijues- 
lion  hardly  entertained.  That  the  universe  must  be  substantiated 
md  caused,  that  cause  and  substance  are  relations  of  knowledge 
Rjr  all  minds,  and  that  to  say  'all  changes  must  be  caused,'  is 

e  way  of  saying  that  aU  changes  must,  by  an  absolute,  uncreated 
necessity,  be  referred  to  an  intending  Will,  are  assumptions  which 
perhaps  Berkeley  virtually  makes,  but  without  criticism,  or  the 
scientihc  insight  which  criticism  gives.  That  Space  and  Time 
■Day  also  be  uncreated  necessities  of  sense  perception  he  does 
contemplate,  for  he  reduces  Space  to  arbitrary  relations 
of  our  visual  and  tactual  sensations,  and  he  makes  Time  (about 
which  his  thoughts  were  first  of  all  employed,  he  afterwards 
says)  literally  consist  in  changes.  He  does  not  inquire  critically 
whether  all  sensible  phenomena  must  not,  by  an  uncreated  ne- 
cessity, cmci^e  as  it  were  in  the  form  of  extended  things,  and 
•bcthcr  all  changes  must  not  by  a  like  necessity  emerge  in  the 
form  of  successive  events. 

But  it  is  not  fair  to  apply  thought  and  language  which  Europe 
in  the  nineteenth  century  owes  to  Kant,  to  the  state  of  mind  in 
which  Berkeley  was  in  17 10. 

And  after  al!  deduction  has  been  made,  the  Prineiplts  of  Human 
KmamMge  -inticipatc  later  thoughts,  found  in  Hume,  or  in  the 
Scotch  and  German  reaction  against  him.  Berkeley's  theory  of 
fhysical  causation  anticipates  Hum?,  while  it  consummates  Bacon, 
ind  opens  the  way  to  the  true  conception  of  physical  induction, 
iln  his  account  of  sense  perception,  he  anticipates  the  spirit  of 
ihc  prescntativc  psychology  of  Reid  and  Hamilton.     And  in  his 


44 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


new  central  conception  itself,  he  more  than  anticipates  the  Coper- 
nican  point  of  view  of  Kant.  But  in  1710,  the  book  was  too 
far  in  advance  of  an  unmetaphysical  generation  to  draw  general 
attention  *^ 


We  have  no  data  for  determining  how  long  Berkeley  was 
engaged  in  preparing  his  psychological  Essay  on  Ftsiamy  and  his 
metaphysical  book  of  Principles.  His  Common-place  Book  is  a 
sort  of  magazine  of  the  thought  which  was  gradually  worked  into 
the  two.  This  Book,  and  the  manuscript  of  portions  of  the  Prwr- 
ciples^  which  I  have  given  in  another  volume,  show  successive 
variations  of  phrase  through  which  his  thought  passed  before  it 
was  given  to  the  printer.  The  date  written  on  the  margin  of  the 
rough  draft  of  the  Introduction  to  the  PrincifieSy  seems  to  imply 
that  he  was  working  at  this  in  November  1708.  Fragments  in 
the  Common-place   Book  were   no  doubt   written  years   before. 


^'  Yet  we  have  dim  anticipations  both  of 
Berkeley  and  of  Kant — rather  of  Kant  than  of 
Berkeley,  whose  new  conception  is  missed — 
in  a  hardly  remembered  work,  An  Essay  upon 
Reason^  and  the  Nature  o/Spirits,  by  Richard 
Burthogge,  M.D.,  London,  1694.  The  de- 
sign of  this  work,  announced  in  the  Dedica- 
tion *  to  Mr.  John  Lock,  author  of  the  Essay 
upon  Humane  Understanding,'  is  *  to  show 
the  true  way  of  Human  Knowledge,  and,  by 
showing  that  it  is  real  notional,  to  unite  and 
recondle  the  experimental  or  mechanical 
with  the  scholastic  method.'  The  union  of 
objects  and  universais  is  implied  when  it  is 
said  (pp.  561,  &c.)  that  *  in  every  conception 
there  is  something  that  is  purely  objective, 
purely  notional ;  insomuch  that  few,  if  any,  of 
the  ideas  which  we  have  of  things  are  properly 
pieturn;  our  conceptions  of  things  no  more 
resembling  them  in  strict  propriety  than  our 
words  do  our  conceptions  for  which  they  do 
stand,  and  with  which  they  have  a  kind  of 
correspondence  and  answering ;  just  as  figures 
do  stand  for  numbers,  yet  are  nowise  like 

them As  the  eye  has  no  perceivance 

of  things  but  under  colours  that  are  not  in 
them  (and  the  same,  with  due  alteration, 
must  be  said  of  the  other  senses  \  so  the 
understanding  apprehends  not  things,  or  any 
habitudes  or  aspects  of  them,  but  under  cer- 
tain notions,  that  neither  have  their  being 
in  objects,  or  that  being  of  objects  that  they 


seem  to  have;  but  are  in  all  respects  the 
very  same  to  the  mind  or  understanding 
that  colours  are  to  the  eye  ....  It  is 
certain  that  things  to  us  men  are  nothing 
but  as  they  do  stand  in  our  analogy;  that  it, 
in  plain  terms,  they  are  nothing  to  us,  but 
as  they  are  known  to  us ;  and  as  certain, 
that  they  stand  not  in  our  analogy,  nor  are 
known  by  us,  but  as  they  are  in  our  facul- 
ties— in  our  senses,  imagination,  or  mind; 
and  they  are  not  in  our  faculties,  either  in 
their  own  reality,  or  by  way  of  a  true  re- 
semblance or  representation,  but  only  in 
respect  of  certain  appearances  or  sentiments, 
which,  by  the  various  impressions  that  they 
make  upon  us,  or  cause,  or  (which  is  moit 
probable)  concur  in  causing  with  onr  lactit- 
ties.  Every  cogitative  faculty,  though  it 
is  not  the  sole  cause  of  its  own  immediate 
(apparent)  object,  yet  has  a  share  in  making 
it  ....  In  sum,  the  immediate  objects  oc 
cogitation,  as  it  is  exercised  by  men,  are 
eniia  eogitationiSf  all  phenomena;  appear- 
ances that  do  no  more  exist  without  ovi 
faculties  in  the  things  themselves  than  the 
images  that  are  seen  in  water,  or  behind  a 
glass,  do  really  exist  in  those  places  where 

they  seem  to  be In  truth,  neither 

accident  nor  substance  hath  any  being  but 
only  in  the  mind,  and  by  the  virtue  of 
cogitation  or  thought.'     See  Chap.  III.  V. 


> 


Trinity  College,  Dublin.  45 

ic  design  of  the  frindpUs  and  the  Exfi*/,  either  as  parts  of  one 

the  same  work,  or  as  separate  treatises,  was  probably  in  his 

ind  when  he  obtained  his  Fellowship  in  1707. 

Berkeley's  leading  thought  and  method  were  published  when  he 

was  your\g.     Some  of  his  philosophical  predecessors  and  successors 

resemble  him  in  this,  but  none  to  the  same  degree.   Dcs  Cartes  pro- 

bced  his  great  philosophical  writings  soon  after  he  was  forty.    Spi- 

\  announced  his  philosophy  still  earlier,  and  died  soon  after  be 

forty.    Hume's  greatest  work  of  speculation  appeared  when  he 

twenty-seven.   Berkeley  offered  his  philosophy  at  an  earlier  age 

ban  any  of  these.     In  (aa,  his  is  the  most  extraordinary  instance 

original  reflective  precocity  on  record.     Locke,  in  contrast  with 

kis,  was  hardly  known  as  an  author  till  he  was  almost  sixty,  and 

Lant  was  about  the  same  age  when  he  published  the  first  of  the 

great   critical  works   which   contain   his  philosophy.     The 

politics  of  tile  precocious  philosophers  are  obviously  different  from 

sc  of  the  others.     If  ardent  precocity  has  succeeded  in  burning 

way  more  into  the  heart  of  things,  the  more  tardy,  phlegmatic, 

•ad  sober  are  usually  more  attentive  in  their  reasonings  to  the 

imitations  and  compromises  of  our  human  condition. 


Berkeley's  book  oiPrindplet  was  a  sort  of  cliallenge  to  the  philo- 
Pphical  world.  E>ublin  contained  few  who  were  likely  to  listen 
I  it.  The  austere  theological  philosopher  who  had  governed 
'rinity  College,  was  translated  to  the  diocese  of  Cork  and  Ross 
youX  the  very  time  the  book  appeared.  If  he  read  it  he  was  not 
onvertcd  by  it.  The  judicious  philosophical  divine  who  was  then 
krchbLshup  of  Dublin  was  not  likely  to  adopt  the  paradoxically 
{pressed  and  revolutionary  conception  of  a  Junior  Fellow.  Bcr- 
ardour  as  a  discoverer  made  him  anxious  to  gain  a  hearing. 
lot  satisfied  with  the  provincial  audience  of  Ireland,  he  courted 
opinion  of  the  great  men  in  London.  He  sent  copies  of  his 
book  to  Samuel  Clarke,  the  most  eminent  contemporary 
losopfaical  theologian,  and  to  Whiston,  the  friend  of  Newton, 
then  occupied  Newton's  chair  at  Cambridge.  Whiston  has 
uoatcly  commemorated  the  circumstance  in  his  Memoirs  of 
■it.  *Mr.  Berkeley,'  he  says, ' published,  in  1710,  at  Dublin, 
mctap^ysick  notion — that  Matter  was  not  a  real  thing;  nay, 


I 


46  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkel^,  [ctt 

that  the  common  opinion  of  its  reality  was  groundless,  if  not 
ridiculous.  He  was  pleased  to  send  Dr.  Clarke  and  myself  each 
of  us  a  book.  After  we  had  both  perused  it,  I  went  to  Dr.  ClarkCi 
and  discoursed  with  him  about  it  to  this  effect :  That  I  [being 
not  a  metaphysician]  was  not  able  to  answer  Mr.  Berkeley^ 
[subtle]  premises,  though  I  did  not  believe  his  [absurd]  conclusion. 
I  therefore  desired  that  he,  who  was  deep  in  such  subtleties,  but 
did  not  appear  to  believe  Mr.  Berkeley's  conclusion,  would  answer 
him.     Which  task  he  declined.*     (p.  133.) 

The  challenge  of  the  young  Dublin  philosopher  was  not  ac- 
cepted. The  mathematical  Whiston  treated  it  as  a  mere 
mathematician  might  be  expected  to  do,  except  that  he  had 
more  candour  than  most  of  his  class,  in  supposing  that  it  de- 
served an  answer,  and  more  modesty  in  seeing  that  he  couU 
not  answer  it  himself.  What  Clarke's  answer,  if  he  sent  one  to 
Berkeley,  might  have  been,  we  may  suppose  from  the  only  rele- 
vant passage  in  his  writings.  S^ven  years  later,  in  his  ReMuris 
on  Collins  on  Human  Uherty^  Clarke  writes  thus,  and  we  may 
take  what  he  writes  as  the  substitute  for  a  lost  letter  to  Berkeley 
in  acknowledgment  of  his  book : — *  The  case  [the  fact  of  free 
agency]  is  exactly  the  same  as  in  that  notable  question.  Whe- 
ther the  World  exists  or  no.  There  is  no  demonstration  of 
it  from  experience.  There  always  remains  a  bare  possibility 
that  the  Supreme  Being  may  have  so  framed  my  mind,  as 
that  I  shall  always  be  necessarily  deceived  in  every  one  of  my 
perceptions,  as  in  a  dream,  though  possibly  there  be  no  mate- 
rial world,  nor  any  other  creature  existing,  besides  myself.  Of 
this  I  say  there  always  remains  a  bare  possibility.  And  yet  no 
man  in  his  senses  argues  from  thence,  that  experience  is  no  proof 
to  us  of  the  existence  of  things The  bare  physical  possi- 
bility of  our  being  so  framed  by  the  Author  of  nature,  as  to  be 
unavoidably  deceived  in  this  matter  by  every  experience  of  every 
action  we  perform,  is  no  more  any  just  ground  to  doubt  the  truth 
of  our  Liberty,  than  the  bare  natural  possibility  of  our  being  all 
our  lifetime  as  in  a  dream  deceived  in  our  belief  of  the  existence 
of  the  Material  World  is  any  just  ground  to  doubt  of  the  reality  of 
its  existence.*     [Remarks^  pp.  20,  24.) 

In  short,  the  principle  which  Berkeley  had  applied  to  illustrate 
how  immediate  our  knowledge  of  sensible  things  is,  and  the  impos- 


Trinily  College^  Dublin.  47 

tticism  about  them,  was  construed  by  Clarke  into  a 
;  assumption  that  our  whole  experience  in  the  senses 
The  New  Piinciple  had  a  sorry  prosp;ct  in  that 
century,  when  its  application  to  the  material  world 
thus  reversed  at  the  outset  by  tlie  most  metaphysical  English 
lor  of  the  time.  Whether  Malebranche,  the  great  contemporary 
rench  metaphysician, also  received  'a  book'  we  are  not  informed. 
Clarke's  deification  of  space  in  his  famous  work  of  metaphysical 
tology  was  a  bar  to  his  candid  entertainment  of  the  conception 
It  space  is  only  a  part  of  the  sensible  creation  of  God,  we  could 
idly  expect  the  aged  French  philosopher  to  surrender  the  reasonings 
3  life  in  behalf  of  an  unperceived  external  world,  or  to  forego 
B  resolution  of  all  power  —  human  as  well  as  physical  —  into 
ioe,  OR  the  suggestion  of  a  juvenile  essay  which  accepted 
existence  of  sensible  things  without  proof,  by  simply  explain- 
wbat  their  existence  means,  and  in  which  the  free  agency  of 
\  was  a  fundamental  principle. 


The  year  in  which  the  Btiay  on  Vuion  was  published  was  the  year 
.  which  its  author  first  appeared  in  a  new  character.  On  the 
%  of  February,  1709,  Berkeley  received  ordination  as  Deacon  in 
t  old  chapel  of  Trinity  College.     He  was  ordained  by  Dr.  St. 

icorge  Ashe,  Bishop  of  Cloghcr,  of  whom  we  shall  hear  again. 
t  was  presented  by  Nicholas  Forster,  a  Senior  Fellow  {afler- 
ifds  Bishop  of  Raphoe,  and  the  uncle  as  it  happened  of  his  future 
fcj,  who  vouched  for  his  learning  and  good  character.     Six  other 

uulidates  were  ordained  on  the  same  Sunday. 
I  have  not  discovered  when  or  where  Berkeley  received  Priest's 
dcrs.     As  there  is  no  record  of  this  in  Dublin,  it  may  be  sup- 
Gcd  that  it  was  not  within  that  province. 

Wc  have  no  account  of  wliat  his  thoughts  were  in  becoming 
I  official  teacher  of  religion.  It  would  be  interesting  to  discover 
rm.  Unobtrusive  practical  piety  is  apparent  throughout  his  life, 
A  fcvf  in  the  annals  of  the  Oirislian  ministry  have  preserved 
cmselvcs  freer  from  ecclesiastical  and  professional  bias,  or  have 
jrc  successfully  maintained,  among  many  temptations,  the  love 

'tiuth  as  a  'chief  passion'  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  this 

urtal   life.     The    Christian   ministry,  ancient,   mediieval,  and 


48  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

modern,  has  engaged  more  than  one  of  those  who  rank  in  tbe 
bright  chapters  of  the  history  of  philosophy — with  whom  theology 
is  the  highest  form  of  philosophy,  and  the  reverential  spirit  of 
religion  its  noblest  consecration.  We  have  Origen  and  St.  Augustin, 
Abelard  and  Aquinas,  according  to  the  light  of  their  own  times; 
Malebranche  and  Fenelon,  Cudworth  and  Berkeley  in  the  full  tide 
of  modem  life.    The  last  is  perhaps  the  most  distinct  example. 

Berkeley's  ecclesiastical  service  about  this  time  was  confined 
to  an  occasional  sermon  in  the  College  Chapel.  He  seems 
to  have  delivered  there  what  is  called  a  common-place  more 
than  once  even  before  he  was  ordained,  a  custom  permitted 
in  that  University.  As  a  preacher  his  discourses  were  care- 
fully reasoned,  and  in  beautifully  simple  language  they  occa- 
sionally present  great  thoughts,  without  any  marked  theological 
bias. 

Three  characteristic  common-places,  delivered  probably  in  171 1, 
and  published  in  the  following  year,  as  a  Discourse  of  Passive  Obt£enci^ 
constitute  something  to  our  knowledge  of  the  history  of  Berkeley's 
mind.  This  tract  is  a  closely  argued  defence  of  the  Christian 
duty  of  not  resisting  the  supreme  civil  power,  wherever  placed 
in  a  nation.  We  have  found  Berkeley  working  as  a  reflective 
analyst  of  human  knowledge,  with  a  view  to  its  purification,  and  to 
its  being  re-animated  with  religious  trust  and  reverence.  We  now 
see  him  as  a  Christian  teacher  of  political  morals,  working  out 
logically  his  own  notion  of  the  constructive  or  conservative  prinr 
ciple  in  society.  The  fervid  consecutiveness  which  in  the  Prw- 
ctpUs  of  Human  Knowledge  applied  Berkeley's  conception  of  what 
external  Existence  means,  is  here  not  less  conspicuous  in 
unfolding  his  conception  of  the  basis  of  Society,  and  of  our 
duty  as  members  of  a  social  organism.  Locke's  two  treatises  on 
Government  turned  his  attention  to  the  subject,  in  its  connection 
with  the  general  principles  of  morals,  which  his  Common-place 
Book  shows  that  he  had  long  been  ruminating. 

In  this  Discourse^  Berkeley  is  a  philosophical  advocate  of  hi^ 
Tory  principles.  In  the  supreme  civil  power  he  sees  mcMfC 
than  the  mere  creature  of  popular  desires:  it  is  not  the  result 
of  an  arbitrary  compact  among  the  governed.  There  is  some- 
thing   deeper  and    truer    than  this  unhistorical   fiction    in   the 


Uj  Trinity  CoUtgi,  DiOUn.  49 

tcart  of  every  Nation.  There  is  a  law  of  or6tt  and  justice 
vliich  originates  in  the  conceptioe  of  the  happiness  of  the  living 
petsoos  who  constitute  the  universe^  and  belongs  to  the  uncreated 
Knstitution  of  the  Supreme,  while  it  is  shared  by  his  creatures. 
'nils  conception,  tlius  derived,  forms  with  him  the  principle. 
of  moral  obligation.  Our  obligatioas  in  particular  cases  are 
discovered  by  an  induction  of  the  tendencies  of  actions  to  pro> 
mote  the  general  welfare  of  men;  and,  among  the  general  rules 
»  established,  Don-rcsistance  to  the  ultimate  depository  of  civil 
aathority  is,  he  argues,  one  of  the  diie£  The  fluctuating- 
pcpilar  desire  is  not  that  depository;  nor  is  it  necessarily  to  be 
found  in  the  claims  of  an  arbitrary  monarch.  The  particular 
nature  of  the  government  aod  constitution  in  eadi  nation  is 
foreign  to  his  inquiry,  The  though  which  runs  throuj^  lus 
words  is,  that  the  supreme  power  in  every  society  lies  deeper 
than  these  accidents,  and  is  sonething  bef^  whidi  people  and 
king  alike  should  pause  reverentially:  it  is  the  ordinance  of 
God:  Government  is  of  divine  ri^it. 

If  the  intellectual  philosophyof  Berkeley  iriien  he  was  at  Trinity 
Qdkge  was  a  Theolc^ical  Sensationalism,  his  moral  and  social  phi- 
losophy was  a  Theological  Utilitarianism— each  in  curious  anal<^ 
with  the  other,  and  both  the  expressions  of  the  same  deeply  religious 
spirit.  The  IXseeurse  an  Passive  Oteditmte  leaves  room  for  plenty  of 
casuistry  about  individual  duty  in  revolutionary  times.  But  it 
ilhistiates  Berkeley's  inclination  to  determine  questions  on  broad 
grounds  of  reason  and  conscience,  and  not  by  local  and  ephemeral 
considerations.  It  points  to  a  philosophical  field  above  Toryism 
and  Liberalism,  where  those  superior  to  party  on  either  side  may 
Djeet,  And  it  suggests  one  of  Berkeley's  own  latest  thoughts — 
'Whatever  the  world  thinks,  he  who  hath  not  much  meditated 
upon  God,  the  human  mind,  and  the  summuta  hpnum,  may  possibly 
make  a  thriving  earthworm,  but  will  most  indubitably  make  a 
lorry  patriot  and  a  sorry  statesman".' 

These  common-places  on  political  morality  gave  rise  to  .a 
notion  that  Berkeley  was  in  the  interest  of  the  exiled  Stuart 
lamily.  Non-resistance  and  passive  obedience  were  then  asso- 
ciated with  Jacobttism,  and  supported  in  Queen  Anne's  reign  in 
Nonjurist  tracts  and  pamphlets.  Two  years  before  he  delivered 
"  Siru,  «ect.  350. 
vol..  IV.  E 


50 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


his  common-places  in  the  College  Chapel  at  Dublin,  Sacheverell 
had  preached  his  notorious  sermons  at  Derby  and  in  St.  Paul's. 
Sachevereirs  trial  had  raised  a  hot  controversy  and  turned  out 
a  Whig  ministry.  It  is  not  very  surprising  that  the  Dublin  sermons 
should  in  these  circumstances  have  given  rise  to  suspicion.  The 
^  false  accounts  that  were  gone  abroad'  regarding  their  meaning 
were  mentioned  by  him  as  a  reason  for  publishing  the  D^xrMnf. 
The  publication  does  not  seem  to  have  put  an  end  to  the  rumours 
Years  afterwards  his  political  opinions  were  referred  to  by  Lwd 
Galway  as  an  objection  to  his  claim  for  ecclesiastical  promotioo, 
and  the  sermons  on  Passive  Obedience  were  vaguely  mentioned 
in  confirmation.  But  Berkeley  could  not  be  a  mere  party  politidan, 
and  his  loyalty  to  the  House  of  Hanover  was  attested  by  Samuel 
Molyncux,  who  is  said  to  have  first  introduced  him  to  the  Princess 
of  Wales,  and  to  have  produced  the  Discourse^  as  a  proof  that  its 
author  taught  nothing  disloyal.  It  kept  him,  however,  for  a  while 
in  the  shade  i^. 


"  The  Berkeley  Papers  contain  what  seems 
to  be  a  draft  or  sketch  of  a  letter  written  by 
Berkeley  to  a  friend.     It  is  entitled  Tbougbh 
on  Alliances  in  War.     Its  tone  is  not  that 
of  the  Jacobite  party,  about  this  time,  on  the 
subject  of  which  it  treats;  and  while  its  poli- 
tical morality  is  lofty,  its  diplomatic  tact  is 
deficient.     It  does  not  appear  who  the  friend 
was  for  whom  it  was  intended.     It  seems  to 
have  been  written,  however,   about  1 71  a. 
It  refers  to  the  *  Union  with  Hanover '  as 
future ;  and  the  question  with  which  it  deals 
was  one  discussed  in  the  years  which  pre- 
ceded the  Peace  of  Utrecht.     The  following 
are  some  passages : — 
•Sir, 
I  do  not  wonder  that  you  or  any  true 
Englishman  should  be  no  less  jealous  for  the 
honour  than  for  the  safety  of  his  country, 
and  offended  at  anything  which  has  the  face 
of  baseness  or  treachery,  however  advan- 
tageous it  may  be  thought  to  the  Public; 
nor,  by  consequence,  that  you  should  scru- 
pulously inquire  into  the  justice  of  a  separate 
Peace,  as  being  apprehensive  the  necessity  of 
our  affairs,  together  with  the  backwardness 
of  the  allies,  may  oblige  our  Ministry  to 
enter  upon  some  such  measures.  .  .  . 

[Berkeley  then,  after  deprecating  the 
task  of  giving  an  opinion  on  a  subject  he  is 
not  acquainted  with,  and  sa3ring  that  he  feels 


himself  obliged  to  comply  with  the  com* 
mands  of  his  friend  %  adds  that  he  will  pre 
all  the  satisfaction  he  is  able  by  lajring  down 
some  general  tl  eorems  and  reasonings  vpcn 
the  sacredness  of  Treaties  and  Alliances,  tad 
considering  when,  or  on  what  accounts  tbcy 
may  be  broken  without  guilt.]  .  .  . 

I  lay  it  down  in  the  first  place  for  a  fooda- 
mental  axiom,  that  no  Law  of .  . .  ought 
to  be  violated  ether  for  the  obtaining  any 
advantage  or  [escaping  any]  inconvenicnoe 
whatever.  .  .  . 

From  these  principles  it  cletily  foDom 
that  Public  Faith  ought  not  to  be  sacrificed 
to  private  regards,  nor  even  to  the  moK 
pressing  wants  of  a  whole  People.  The 
violation  therefore  of  a  compact  with  foreign 
nations  can  never  be  justified  on  any  preteatt 
of  that  kind.  Hence  one  nation  havii^ 
solemnly  entered  into  articles  of  aDiaiicc 
with  another,  in  case  they  af^erwardi  per* 
ceive  it  highly  for  their  advantage  to  bieak 
the«e  articles ;  yet  a  breach  upon  that  looit 
must  certaitily  be  looked  upon  as  unjust  and 
dishonourable.  Nor  doth  it  alter  the  case 
that  the  Alliance  having  been  made  under  1 
former  Ministry  is  disliked  and  condemned 
by  the  succeeding.  For  though  the  admini- 
stration of  affairs  pass  through  several  hndi, 
yet  the  Prin'  e  and  the  nation  continue  stiB 
the  same ;  every  Ministry  therefore  is  in  dotj 


*  He  says  this  friend  had  an  exact  knowledge  of  our  engagements  and  interests.     He  was 
therefore  probably  connected  with  the  Minis^y. 


"•] 


Trinity  College^  Dublin. 


51 


After  this  publication,  Berkeley  again  becomes  almost  invisible 
for  a  time.  He  had  been  nominated  a  Sub-Lecturer  in  1710^^,  and 
was  elected  Junior  Dean  in  November  of  that  year,  and  again  in 


boood  to  presenre  sacred  and  entire  the  foith 
and  honoor  of  their  Prince  and  country  by 
standing  firm  to  all  alliances  contracted 
ooder  former  Ministries.  Bnt  with  this  dif- 
ference, that  in  case  the  erils  attending  soch 
an  alliance  shaD  appear  to  be  fortuitous,  or 
■idi  at,  at  the  making  of  it,  could  not  have 
been  foreseen,  then  tfie  conditions  of  that 
disadrantageotts  alliance  ought  to  be  fulfilled 
at  the  public  charge ;  whereas  if  the  Treaty 
shall  appear  originally  and  in  itself  preju- 
dicial to  the  Public,  then  the  fortunes  of 
tboae  ministers  who  made  it  ought  to  go  to- 
wards defira3ring  the  expenses  which,  through 
mhnesi  or  treachery,  they  had  engaged 
their  country  in. 

Hitherto  I  hare  proceeded  on  the  sup- 
position that  the  foundations  of  the  Alliance 
were  jnst,  or  included  nothing  contrary  to 
the  bws  of  Nature  and  Religion.  But  in 
case  screral  States  enter  into  an  agreement 
for  commencing  and  carrying  on  war  upon 
wjust  motives,  no  sooner  shall  any  of  those 
Slates  be  satisfied  of  the  injustice  of  the 
cause  on  which  the  alltame  is  grounded,  but 
they  may  with  honour  look  upon  themselves 
as  disengaged  from  it.  For  example,  sup- 
pose a  parcel  of  Popish  Potentatts  shou'd, 
oat  of  a  pretence  of  doing  right  to  the  Pre- 
tender, engage  in  a  war  for  placing  him  on 
the  throne  of  Great  Britain  and  some  one 
of  them  was  afterwari's  convinced.  .  .  . 
[Here  the  MS.  is  defective  and  almost 
illegible.] 

It  is  also  to  be  esteemed  an  unwarrantable 
procedure   in   case   divers  Potentates   enter 
into  a  confederate  war  against  an  adjacent 
State  for  no  other  reason  but  because  they 
apprehended   it  may  otherwise  become  too 
powerful,  and  consequently  too  formidable  a 
ne:ghb<»ur.    For  examp'e.  suppose  the  Dutch, 
jeaion$  of  that  accession  of  strength  to  the 
British    nation    which   will  follow   upon  its 
nnion  with   Hanover,  should  engage  them- 
selves or  friends  in  a  war  in  order  to  force 
us  to  alter  our  Succession ;  we  would,  I  pre- 
surne.  think  this  unlawful,  and  that  it  was 
the  duty  of  any  one  of  the  confederates,  so 
soon  as  he  became  sensible  of  the  injustice  of 
his  cause,  to  cease  from  all  hostilities,  and 
(iu  cas>e  his  all'es  were  for  continuing  them) 
to  enter  into  a  separate  peace  with  us.     1  he 
truth  of  these  positions  is  plain  from  the  two 
principles  at  fiist  laid  down. 

Further,    it    cannot    be   denied  that  one 
party    may.    without  consent   of   the    rest. 


break  off  from  an  alliance  in  war  originally 
founded  on  honourable  motives,  upon  con- 
viction that  the  ends  for  which  the  war  was 
begun  are  sufficiently  answered ;    although 
his  allies,  whether  blinded  by  passicx)  or  find- 
ing their  advantage  in  carrying  on  the  war, 
should  not  concur  with  him  in  the  same 
judgment.     For  it  is  no  excuse  for  a  man's 
acting  against  his  conscience  that  he  made  a 
bargain  to  do  so.     Youll  demand  what  must 
be  thought  in  case  it  was  a  fundamental  article 
of  the  alliance,  that  no  one  party  should 
hearken  to  proposals  of  peace  without  con- 
sent of  the  rest.     I  answer  that  any  such 
engagement  is  in  itself  absolutdy  void,  for- 
asmuch as  it  is  sinful,  and  what  no  Prince  or 
State  can  lawfully  enter  into,  it  being   in 
effect  no  less  than  binding  themselves  to  the 
commission  of  murder,  rapine,  sacrilege,  and 
of  violence,  so  long  as  it  shall  seem  good  to 
.  .  .  what  else  I  beseech  you  is  war  ab- 
stracted from  the  necessity  .  .  .  but  a  com- 
plication of  all  these  '     [MS.  defective.] 

In  a  P.S.  Berkeley  adds — *  Another  indis- 
putable case  there  is  which  absolves  a  party 
from  fulfilling  the  conditions  of  any  contract, 
namely,  when  those  with  whom  the  con- 
tract was  made  fail  to  perform  their  part  of 
it.  Lastly,  in  case  two  or  more  States,  for 
their  mutual  security,  enter  into  a  league  to 
deprive  a  neighbouring  Prince  of  sonic  part 
of  his  possessions  and  add  them  unto  those 
of  another  in  order  to  constitute  a  ballance 
of  Power.  Allowing  the  grounds  whereon 
the  war  is  founded  to  be  just,  yet  if,  during 
the  progress  of  the  war,  the  Prince  whose 
territories  were  to  be  enlarged  shall  by  some 
unexpected  turn,  grow  far  more  great  and 
powerful  than  he  was  at  the  making  of  the 
treary,  it  should  seem  the  afToresaid  States 
are  disengaged  from  their  contiact  to  each 
other,  which,  having  been  originally  by  all 
parties  introduced  and  understood  only  as  a 
means  to  obtain  a  ballance  of  Power,  can 
never  be  of  force  to  oblige  them  to  act  for 
a  direct  contrary  purpose.' 

"  Berkeley's  nunc  is  last  on  the  list  of 
those  nominated  Sub-Lecturers,  from  which 
we  may  infer  that  he  had  to  lecture  the 
First  (lass,  now  called  '  Junior  Freshmen.* 
A  principal  part  of  his  duty  would  be 
to  expound  Porphyry's  Introduction,  and  to 
examine  Students  on  the  text,  as  well  as  to 
lecture  his  own  pupils  privately.  The  duties 
of  Sub-Lecturers  and  Tutors  were  defined 
bv  Statute. 


E  2 


52 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


November  171 1.  Though  all  who  have  written  about  him  seem 
unaware  of  it,  he  visited  England  in  1712,  apparently  for  the  first 
time.  The  College  Registry  records  that  in  March  of  that  year 
'  Mr.  Berkeley's  health  and  necessary  business  requiring  his  longer 
stay  in  England,  the  Vice-Provost  and  Fellows  have  thought  fit  to 
continue  his  leave  of  absence  for  two  months  longer.'  In  May, 
'  Mr.  Berkeley  being  still  in  England  for  the  recovery  of  his  health, 
his  leave  of  absence  is  continued.'  He  must  have  returned  before 
winter,  for  in  November  he  was  elected  Junior  Greek  Lecturer, 
and  the  entries  show  that  he  borrowed  a  book  from  the  Library  ^ 
in  December  ^^ 

Berkeley  was  a  Tutor  in  Trinity  College  from  1707  to  1724, 
though  only  nominally  after  1711  or  171a.  According  to  Stock, 
Samuel  Molyneux  was  one  of  his  pupils.  That  this  youth,  who 
took  his  Bachelor's  Degree  in  1708,  was  one  of  his  intimates,  is 
proved  by  the  Dedication  of  the  Miscellanea  Mathematical  But  I 
do  not  find  in  the  College  Records  that  he  was  a  pupil  of 
Berkeley's,  who  seems  to  have  had  only  five  pupils  while  he  was 
Tutor — three  Fellow  Commoners  and  two  Sizars  ".  Their  names, 
with  the  dates  of  their  entrance,  are  as  follows: — Nov.  17,  1709, 
Thomas  Bligh,  F.C.;  May  29,  1710,  David  Bosquet,  Siz.;  Jan.  18, 
17 1 1,  Arthur  Dawson,  F.C.;  June  29,  1711,  Michael  Tisdal,  F.C; 
June  14,  1 7 14,  Michael  Wall,  Siz.  None  of  these  names  are 
known  to  fame,  nor  can  we  tell  how  Bligh  and  Bosquet^  Dawson 
and  Tisdal,  long  since  forgotten,  were  aflFected  by  daily  inter- 
course with  one  who  was  then  producing  thoughts  which  have 
since  determined  the  course  of  European  speculation. 

In  171 2,  Berkeley  had  been  for  five  years  a  Junior  Fellow  and 


"  It  is  interesting  to  note  the  names  of 
books  borrowed  by  Berkeley  from  the  Li- 
brary  in  these  years,  recorded  in  the  Loan 
Book: — 

1 707  A  Treatisi  on  Human  Reason. 

1 709  Grotius,  De  Jure  Belli  et  Pacts. 

171a,  Jan.  Philip  de  Comines. 

El^mens  de  Matbimatique. 

Quinctilian. 

Hebrew  Bible. 

Cartesii  Oeometria. 

Ludovici  Grammaiici  Condones. 

^schines,  &c.,  Latine. 

Barrow's  Sermons. 

Hebrew  Bible,  Tom.  HI. 

iBschines,  &c.,  Orationes, 


171a,  Dec.  Vossius,  De  Historicis  Laiims. 

'*  He  is  marked  *  non-co.'  on  the  Buttery 
Books  from  1711  to  1721.  This  muk  is 
not  absolute  proof  of  absence,  for  in  those 
days  the  Provost  sometimes  exerted  his  pre- 
rogative of  giving  Junior  Felk>ws  and 
Scholars  the  money  compensation  for  tber 
commons,  even  when  they  were  resident  in 
College.  But  it  is  singular  that  Berkeley 
should  have  been  elected  Junior  Dean,  when 
so  marked,  because  a  part  of  the  Dean's 
duty  is  to  dine  in  Hall. 

'^  The  Sizars  were  at  that  time  nominated 
by  the  Tutors.  The  last  entry  is  no  proof 
that  Berkeley  was  resident  in  College  in 
1714. 


^1 


Trimly  ColUge^  Du6Un. 


53 


Tolor,  besides  holding,  during  part  oS  that  time,  the  offices  of 
SUb-Lectnrery  Junior  Greek  Lecturer,  and  Junior  Dean.  His  con* 
sequent  duties  were  considerable,  and  besides,  he  occasionally 
oHiriafrd  in  tiie  CoU^e  ChapeL  His  academical  emoluments, 
anminal|y  small,  are  not  to  be  measured  by  the  present  value  of 
HKMiey*  The  salary  of  a  Junior  Fellow  was  then  ten  pounds,  and 
of  a  Junior  Dean  ei^  pounds.  As  Sub-Lecturer  he  had  eight 
ponds  more.  But,  including  his  fees  as  Tutor,  his  emoluments 
pobaUy  did  not  exceed  forty  pounds  a^year,  a  sum  which  may 
be  twmsbtrd  into  periiap^  a  hundred  and  fcMty  when  estimated 
bf  onr  standard.  His  private  resources  were,  I  should  think, 
seamy,  and  his  philosophical  publications  cannot  have  added  mudi 
to  them  ». 

Same  of  Berkeley's  time  in  1712  was  given,  we  may  surmise,  to 
ficparing  the  beautiful  Bimhgues  in  which,  in  the  following  year^ 
he  son^  to  reconunend  his  new  conception  of  sensible  things 
Id  the  fiteiary  world  and  to  common  readers,  who  might  be 
fepdled  by  the  systematic  form,  and  the  unrelieved  reasonings 
of  the  FrMfks  ff  Hmmmm  Knowledge. 

He  was  now  to  enter  a  wider  world  of  life,  with  which  the 
tranquil  speculations  of  philosophy  were  perhaps  less  in  harmony 
than  the  one  described  in  this  chapter. 


'^  I  am  faroored  by  theRer.  Dr.  Dickson, 
the  learned  Librariao,  with  the  following  note 
of  Salaries  in  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  in 
1676  aod  1733: — 


Salaries  in 
1676. 


Provost 
Senior  Fellow 
Jonior  Fellow 
Native  Scholar 
Other  Scholar 
Caiecfaist 


£joo 

30 
10 

3 
I 

20 


o 
o 
o 
o 

5 
o 


o 
o 
o 
o 
o 
o 


Angmenta- 

tions  made 

July  19, 

1722. 

£176    o    o 


18 

5 

1 


6  8 

o  o 

o  o 

5  o 


Senior  Dean  i6 

Junior  Dean  8 

Senior  Lecturer       1 6 
Sub-Lecturer  8 

Bursar  20 

Auditor  lo 

Librarian  8 

Kitchen  allowance  1  ^ 

for  each  Fellow  ) 
Kitchen  allowance  1 

for  each  Scholar  ]  ^ 


o 
o 
o 
o 
o 
o 
o 


o 
o 
o 
o 
o 
o 
o 


IS    6 


II 


4 

2 

4 

12 
30 

n 

7 


o 
o 
o 
o 
o 
6 
o 


o 
o 
o 
o 
o 
8 
o 


4^  13    4 


2  12     5 

»    4    5 

The  annual  fee  paid  by  Fellow  Commoners 
to  the  Tutor  was  £4.    Sizars  paid  nothing. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ENGLAND,  FRANCE,  AND   ITALY. 
1713— 172I. 

On  an  April  Sunday,  in  17 13,  Berkeley  appeared  at  the  Court 
of  Queen  Anne  in  the  company  of  Swift.  The  Journal  to  StelU^ 
that  curious  revelation  of  Swift's  brilliant  connection  with  the 
political  and  literary  world  of  London  from  September  17 10 
till  June  1 713,  contains  the  following  entry :—' April  12,  [1713] 
— I  went  to  Court  to-day  on  purpose  to  present  Mr.  Berkeley,  one 
of  our  Fellows  of  Trinity  College,  to  Lord  Berkeley  of  Stratton* 
That  Mr.  Berkeley  is  a  very  ingenious  man  and  great  philosopher, 
and  I  have  mentioned  him  to  all  the  ministers,  and  have  given 
them  some  of  his  writings^  and  I  will  favour  him  as  much  as  I 
can.  This,  I  think,  I  am  bound  to — in  honour  and  conscience 
to  use  all  my  little  credit  towards  helping  forward  men  of  worth 
in  the  world.' 

It  is  probable  that  before  Swift  left  Ireland,  in  1710,  Berkeley 
was  not  unknown  to  him,  though  from  the  way  in  which  he  is 
here  mentioned  one  can  hardly  suppose  that  he  had  been  a  fre- 
quent visitor  at  Laracor.  The  origin  of  their  acquaintance,  which 
helped  in  several  ways  to  shape  Berkeley's  course,  can  only  be 
conjectured.  Swift  was  a  generous  and  steady  friend,  though  his 
*  severe  sense'  could  scarcely  appreciate  the  peculiar  merit  of 
this  'great  philosopher's'  writings.  Berkeley's  *  Passive  Obedi- 
ence,' and  his  'duty  of  not  resisting  the  supreme  civil  power,* 
however,  were  no  unwelcome  watchwords  for  the  political  friend 
and  adviser  of  Oxford  and  Bolingbroke.  Perhaps,  too,  the  memory 
of  long  past  days  on  the  bank  of  the  Nore,  in  the  'famous  school' 
of  Kilkenny,  might  have  had  its  influence  with  Swift.     At  any 


London. 


^OT^Ook  the  lead  in  introducing  the 


young 


Dublin  Fellow 


the  great  in  letters  and  in  rank. 

On  the  i6th  of  April,  four  days  after  Berkeley  was  presented  at 
Court  to  his  kinsman.  Lord  Berkeley  of  Stratton,  his  name  again 
app^an  in  Swiffs  diary.  Swift  had  been  visiting  Lady  Masham 
in  the  mornings  and  receiving  her  condolences  on  his  approach- 
ing banishment  to  St.  Patrick's,  the  only  reward  the  Tories  could 
jivc  him  in  return  for  his  perversion  and  his  pen.  He  was 
*  never  more  moved  than  to  sec  so  much  friendship,'  He  would 
not  stay  with  her  that  day,  but  'went  and  dined  with  Dr.  Ar- 
buthr>ot,  and  with  Mr.  Berkeley,  one  of  your  Fellows,  whom  I  have 
iccommendeil  to  the  doctor,  and  to  Lord  Berkeley  of  Stratton.* 
And  on  the  list  of  April.amid  Swift's  fluctuations  of  feeling  about 
tlic  deanery  of  St.  Patrick's,  he  'dined  in  an  alehouse  with  Pamell 
and  Berkeley;'  not  being  in  humour  to  go  among  the  ministers, 
tbou^  Lord  Dartmouth  had  invited  him  to  dine  with  him,  and 
Lwd  Treasurer  was  to  be  there.  He  had  told  them  he  would  do 
so  if  he  were  '  out  of  suspense.' 

Swift  was  put  out  of  suspense  a  few  days  after.  Early  in  June 
he  was  at  Chester,  'after  a  ride  of  six  days  from  London,  pre- 
paring to  proceed  to  Holyhead  and  Dublin,  condemned  again  to 
Btc  in  Ireland,  but  intending  to  return  to  London  'before 
winter.'  His  enforced  residence  afterwards  in  his  native  island 
left  him  free  to  apply  his  early  principles  of  liberty,  and  his 
stfoog  patriotic  feeling,  to  rouse  resentment  against  the  wrongs  of 
his  country. 

The  Jvtmal  to  Stella^  in  that  spring  of  1713,  reveals  in  its 
minute  details  the  London  life  into  which  Swift  introduced 
Berkeley.  Let  us  look  through  this  faithful  medium  a  little  at 
what  was  then  going  on.  A  few  days  before  Berkeley's  name 
appears.  Swift  was  'at  the  rehearsal  of  Mr.  Addison's  play 
called  Cato,'  where  his  friend  Dr.  Ashe,  Bishop  of  Clt^hcr,  was 
too,  but  'privately  in  a  gallery.'  On  the  ist  of  April  he 
Rcords  that  'Steele  has  begun  a  new  daily  paper  called  the 
GmarJi^B  1  they  say  good  for  nothing.  I  have  not  seen  it.'  In 
March,  'Pamell's  poem  was  mightily  esteemed,  but  poetry  sells  ill. 
Mr.  Pope  has  published  a  tine  poem  called  Windsor  Forest'  On 
one  day  he  walked  to  Chelsea  to  see  Dr.  Attcrbury,  then  Dean 
of  Christ  Cliurch;  on  another  day  he  saw  the  Bishop  of  Clogher  at 


4 


56  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch.  - 

Court.   Again,  he  dines  with  the  Duke  of  Ormond  and  Sir  Thomas 
Hanmer.    Sir  Thomas  was  the  most  considerable  man   in  the 
House  of  Commons.     He  was,  it  seems,  much  out  of  humour  with 
things,  and  thought  the  Peace  was  kept  off  too  long,  and  was  full 
of  fears  and  doubts.     People  thought  he  was  designed  for  Secretary 
of  State,  instead  of  Lord  Dartmouth.    An  evening  is  spent  with 
Dr.  Pratt  and  the  Bishop  of  Clogher,  and  they  *  play  at  ombre  fbr 
threepence.'     On  another  day,  while  he   is   at  dinner  at  Lord 
Treasurer's,  with  some  of  the  Sixteen  Brothers,  a  servant  an- 
nounces that  Lord  Peterborough  is  at  the  door.     Lord  Treasurer 
and  my  Lord  Bolingbroke  go  out  to  meet  him,  and  bring  him  in. 
He  is  just  returned  from  abroad,  where  he  has  been   for  above 
a  year.     When  he  sees  Swift,  he  leaves  the  Duke  of  Ormond  and 
the  other  lords,  and  runs  and  kisses  him  before  he  speaks  to  them. 
He  is  at  least  sixty,  and  has  more  spirits  than  any  young  fellow  in 
England.     After  church,  on  another  Sunday,  Swift  showed  the 
Bishop  of  Clogher  at  Court '  who  is  who.'    The  Bishop,  it  seems, 
had  taken  his  lodgings  in  town  for  the  winter.     There  were  in 
town  abundance  of  people  from  Ireland — 'half  a  dozen  Bishops 
at  least.*     'Poor  Master  Ashe  has  a  redness  in  his  face;    it  is 
St.  Anthony's  fire.'    Then  he  dines  with  Lady  Oxford,  and  sits  with 
Lord  Treasurer,  who  shows  him  a  letter  from  an  unknown  hand, 
relating  to  Dr.  Peter  Browne,  Bishop  of  Cork,  recommending  him 
to  a  better  bishopric  somewhere  else.     But  the  Bishop  of  Cork 
remained  where  he  was.    Again,  after  a  Sunday  at  Court — ^'I 
make  no  figure  at  Court,  where  I  affect  to  turn  from  a  lord  to  the 
meanest  of  my  acquaintance.    I  love  to  go  there  on  Sundays  to 
see  the  world.     But,  to  say  the  truth,  I  am  growing  weary  of  it 
I  presented  Pratt  to  Lord  Treasurer,  and  young  Molyneux  would 
have   had   me   present    him   too,  but  I  directly  answered   him, 
I  would  not,  unless  he  had  business  with  him.     He  is  the  son  of 
Mr.  Molyneux  of  Ireland.     His  father  wrote  a  book.    I  suppose 
you  know  it.'   On  another  day  he  meets  *  Mr.  Addison  and  pastoral 
Philips  on  the  Mall,'  and  takes  a  turn  with  them;  but  they  both 
looked  terribly  dry  and  cold.     '  A  curse  of  party.*    Then  Dr.  Cog- 
hill  and  he  dine  by  invitation  at  Mrs.  Van.'s.     After  a  dinner 
somewhere  else,  the   company  parted   early,  but   Freind,  Prior, 
and  Swift  sat  a  while  longer  and  *  reformed  the  State.'     Again  at 
Court,  but  nobody,  it  seems,  invited  him  to  dinner,  except  one  or 


sl]  LandoH.  57 

two  iriiom  he  did  not  care  to  dine  witii.    So  he  dined  with 
Mrs.  VaniKMnrig^. 

He  fiad  been  livix^  tibus  tiiroa^  montibs  and  years  of  political 
iBtf%iie  amoi^  tlie  Sixteen  ftottiers,  and  oS  literary  gossip  at 
BMDn*%  or  now  in  the  ScriUems  Chib. 

ft  was  some  time  in  the  wet  and  dreary  spring  of  1713^ 
Utat  the  fhilosojphical  enthusiast  dl  Trinity  College  found  his 
wwf  fiom  Dublin,  probably  through  f]oI]rhead  and  Chester^  to 
IxMidon.    We  can  only  conjecture  the  motives  of  his  journey. 
Hie  Qdlqge  minute  reports  ill  healdu    Peihaps^  too,  he  wanted 
to   see   tile  world.     He    may  have    been    moved   by  literary 
ambttkm;  or  by  the  zeal  of  a  j^osophical  missionary,  bent  on 
getting  peof^e  to  conceive  tiie  material  universe  according  to  his 
owanewwayofthinking  about  it.  We  have  no  record  c^his  arrival, 
er  how  he  looked  at  London,  which  was  tiien  speculating  about 
die  Peace  of  Utredit,  or  admiring  its  new  catiiedral  dl  St.  VmYs. 
His  arrival  may  have  been  a  montii  or  two  before  tiie  April  morning 
;  on  wfaich,  in  S  wiftfs  company,  he  made  his  appearance  at  the  Court 
ef  Qgeen  Anne.    Before  April  came  he  was  writing  essays  against 
Ae  Free-thinkers,  in  the  ^new  paper  called  the  GuarMan^  and 
he  seems  already  to  have  found  his  way  into  some  of  the  free- 
thinking  clubs  as  an  observer.    Steele  commenced  the  Guardian  on 
the  1 2th  of  March  in  that  year,  soon  after  the  temporary  cessation 
of  the  Spectator^  and  the  new  paper  was  abruptly  dropped  in  a  little 
more  than  six  months.     Berkeley's  connection  with  it  as  a  con- 
tributor seems  to  have  extended  from  the  14th  of  March  to  the 
5th  of  August,  when  he  contributed  fourteen  essays.    These  essays 
are  now  contained  for  the  first  time  in  an  edition  of  Berkeley's 
works. 

Probably  the  Junior  Fellow  of  Trinity  was  not  unwilling  to  earn 
bread  by  his  pen,  as  well  as  to  tell  the  world  what  was  deep  in  his 
thoughts.  Each  essay  brought  him  a  guinea,  and  also  a  dinner 
from  his  countryman  Steele,  perhaps  among  the  wits  at  Button's, 

^  By  rqwrt  that  spring  in  London  was  *It  is   rainy  again;    never  saw  the   like' 

a  reiy   wet   one.      Swift,   among    others,  (April  6).     *  It  rains  every  day '  (April  lo). 

records  it.     *  Terrible  rain  all  day '  (March  And  on  July  ao,  Pope  writes  to  Addison, 

99V.      'I    have    fires    still,    though    April  *I  am  more  joyed  at  your  return  than  I 

is  begun,  against  my  old  maxim ;   but  the  should  be  at  that  of  the  sun,  so  much  as  I 

weather  is  wet   and  cold.      I   never    saw  wish  for  him  in  this  melancholy  wet  season.' 

such  a  long  mn  of  ill  weather  in  my  life'  (Aiken's  Lxf9  0/ Addium^  vol.  II.  p.  9a.)    - 
(April  a).     *  It  rained  aU  day  *  (April  4). 


58  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

or  in  his  country  cottage  on  Haverstock  Hill.  Berkeley,  we  are 
told,  never  spoke  or  thought  highly  of  Steele's  ability.  But  he 
regarded  him  as  ^a  man  of  uncommon  good  nature,  and  more 
witty  in  conversation  than  any  peison  he  had  ever  seen^.* 

About  the  time  of  Berkeley's  arrival  in  London,  Anthony 
Collins,  a  gentleman  of  good  family  in  Essex,  under  forty  years 
of  age,  had  attracted  the  talk  of  the  town,  and  roused  the  theo- 
logical world,  by  a  Discourse  of  FrU'thmksngy  occasioned  by  the  rise  mU 
growth  of  a  Sect  called  Free-thinkers^  which  was  published  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1713.  Ten  years  before,  Locke,  then  at  Oates  in  Essex, 
was  in  affectionate  correspondence  with  this  Essex  gentleman,  in 
whom  the  venerable  philosopher  thought  he  found  a  candour  and 
ingenuousness  superior  to  almost  any  of  his  contemporaries. 
Soon  after  Locke's  death^  Collins  got  involved  in  theological  con* 
troversy.  He  supported  Dodwell  against  Clarke,  by  reasoningi 
which  Swift  has  preserved  for  ridicule  in  Martinus  Scriblerus.  In 
1709  he  published  a  tract  against  priestcraft;  and  in  the  follow- 
ing year  he  attacked  King,  the  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  for  his  sermon 
on  predestination  and  foreknowledge.  And  now,  in  this  Disconrse^ 
he  boldly  took  for  granted  that  all  believers  in  supernatural 
revelation  must  be  hostile  to  free  inquiry.  Berkeley  may  have 
met  Collins  in  the  course  of  this  season  in  London.  In  the 
society  of  that  time,  Steele  and  Addison,  and  all  who  mixed  freely 
with  the  wits  and  politicians,  might  be  found  in  their  private  hours 
in  femiliar  intercourse  with  persons  who  openly  avowed  that  they 
had  abandoned  Christianity.  Berkeley  is  reported  to  have  said 
that,  being  present  in  one  of  the  deistical  clubs  in  the  pretended 
character  of  a  learner,  he  was  informed  that  Collins  had  an- 
nounced himself  as  the  discoverer  of  a  demonstration  against  the 
existence  of  God  ^K 

The  exclusive  claim  to  free  inquiry  made  by  the  ^Free- 
thinkers '  roused  the  indignation  of  Berkeley.  In  those  essays  in 
the  Guardian  he  appears  as  a  free-thinking  Anti-free-thinker.  His 
simplicity  and  earnestness,  as  well  as  his  subtle  imagination, 
refined  humour,  and  sarcasm,  are  seen  in  his  contributions 
The  author  of  the  Principles  of  Human  Knowledge^  and  of  the 
Discourse  of  Passive  Oiedience  appears  in  the  new  character  of  a 

■  Biografbia  Britatmiea,  vol.  III. — *  Ad-  »  Chandler's  Lift  0/ Johnson,  p.  57. 

denda  and  Corrigenda.' 


Londom. 


59 


contributor  to  popular  periodical  litEiature,  trying  to  describe 
the  believer  in  God  and  iaunortality  t^  contrasts  witli.  the  ao^ 
believer  in  both.  It  was  his  first  act-  in  a  omtFoversy  to  whidi 
ite  long  afterwards  rtturned> 

Through  Swirt  and  Steele^  Berlcelejr  9000  found  his  way  annng 
other  men  of  Queen  Anne's  ttme.  In  this  summer  of  1713,  Pope 
was  still  living  at  Binlield,  ""^wg  the  ^ades  of  Windsor,  but  he 
was  no  doubt  to  be  found  in  llie  neig^ibourhood  of  St.  James's,  ' 
or  in  his  favourite  cofFee-house  at  Covent  Garden.  Berlceleyand 
the  young  poet  must  have  been  soon  bnx^t  togetlwr,  and  we  find 
them  in  correspondence  in  the  foUtnidng  winter.  Swift  had  intro- 
duced him  to  his  kinsman  the  Eael  of  Berlceley,  and  by  the  Earl 
he  was  sometime  after  introduced  to  Atterbtu7.  The  story  of 
their  meeting  is  well  known*.  Atttrbuiy,  having  beard  niudi 
of  Berkeley,  wished  to  see  him.  Accordingly  he  was  introduced 
to  the  Bishop  by  the  Earl.  After  some  time  the  other  quitted 
the  room,  and  when  Lord  Berkeley  said  to  the  Biabq),  *Does 
my  cousin  answer  your  lonUiip^  expectations?*  Atterbuiy, 
lifting  up  his  hands  in  astonishment,  replied,  *So  much  under- 
standing, so  much  knowledge,  so  much  innocence,  and  such 
humility,  I  did  not  think  had  been  the  portion  of  any  but  angels 
till  I  saw  this  gentleman." 

Berkeley  now  met  the  serene  and  cheerful  Addison,  as  well 
as  the  warm  and  impulsive  Steele,  and  the  sensitive,  fastidious 
poet  of  Binfield.  Nor  was  he  confined  to  poets.  At  the  instance 
of  Addison,  a  meeting.  Stock  says,  was  arranged  with  Clarke, 
the  metaphysical  divine,  to  discuss  the  reality  of  the  existence  of 
Sensible  things.  Berkeley  was  believed  to  profess  the  monstrous 
paradox  that  sensible  things  do  not  exist  at  all ;  and  his 
philosophy,  naturally,  was  becoming  an  object  of  ridicule  to  the 
wits  *.  Great  hopes  were  entertained  of  the  issue  of  this  meeting. 
But  the  parties  separated  without  coming  nearer  than  when  they 
met;  and  Berkeley  is  reported  to  have  complained  that  his  anta- 
gtmist,  though  he  could  not  answer  his  arguments,  bad  not  the 
candour  to  acknowledge  himself  convinced. 

*  Sn  Hugbo'  I^Utn,  id.  II.  p.  l. 

*  So  Brown,  long  ifier  thu — 
bt  nnqoiih  Beikalc]' with  agrin.' 


6o  Life  afid  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

In  1 7 13,  Clarke  was  preaching,  in  the  parish  church  of  St.  James'Si  , 
Westminster,  those  discourses  of  clear  and  strong  argumentative 
texture  many  volumes  of  which  have  descended  to  us  in  print 
Nine  years  before,  he  had  delivered,  in  the  cathedral  church  of  ■ 
St.  Paul,  that  famous  Demonstratiom  of  the  Being  and  ^ttrihaes  ef 
Gody  with  which  Berkeley  must  have  been  acquainted,  and  which  | 
attracted  the  ablest  thinkers  of  his  time.     In  the  autumn  of  17131  j 
the  Demanstrattm  brought  Clarke  into  contact  with  young  Joseph 
Butler,  afterwards   author   of  the   Analogy^   whose  letters,  with 
Clarke's  rejoinders,  form  a  correspondence  unmatched  in  its  kind 
in   English  philosophical  literature.      Perhaps  on  some  Sunday, 
not  long  after  his  arrival  in  London,  the  Dublin  Junior  Fellav  ; 
might  have  been  found  in  the  parish  church  of  St.  James's.    Wc  '. 
do   not  know  when   or  where  Clarke  and   Berkeley  first  met 
The  meeting,  said  to  have  been  arranged  by  Addison,  may  ha?e  ' 
occurred  in  17 13,  or  in  either  of  the  two  following  years.     It 
cannot  have  been  later,  for  Addison  died  in  1719,  when  Berkeley 
had  been  for  years  abroad. 

Among  his  other  occasional  associates  in  the  summer  of  1713 
were  Arbuthnot,  the  London  wit  and  Scotch  doctor  at  the  Court 
of  Queen  Anne,  the  poets  Gay  and  Parnell,  Dr.  John  Frcind,  the  ' 
eminent  English  physician,  and  his  brother  Dr.  Robert  Freindi 
the  learned  head  master  of  Westminster  School.    Matthew  Prior,  | 
the  poet  and  diplomatist,  was  most  of  this  year  at  the  Court  of  \ 
Versailles,  or  employed  in  negotiations  about  the  Peace.     But  f 
Thomas  Prior  of  Dublin,  the  companion  of  Berkeley's  boyish  days  .j 
at  Kilkenny,  and  of  his  undergraduate  years  at  Dublin,  was  in 
London  in  November,  if  not  sooner.     They  may  have  come  over 
together  from  Ireland,  or  the  one  may  have  preceded  the  other,  j 
and  perhaps  induced  his  friend  to  follow  him.     It  was  probably  j 
in  the  spring  or  summer  of  this  year,  too,  that  a  dinner  occurred  j 
at    Mrs.  Vanhomrigh's    house,    which,    recollected    years    after, 
strangely  affected  Berkeley's  fortune.     He  may  have  been  carried 
there  by  Swift,  on  one  of  those  many  occasions,  some  of  which 
are  recorded  in  the  Diary  for  the  entertainment  of  poor  Stella. 

It  was  not  merely  as  a  subtle  satirist  of  the  Free-thinkers  that 
Berkeley  addressed  the  world  through  the  press  in  the  course  of 
this  year.     He  wanted  to  produce,  in  a  form  more  suited  to  the 


•  •  • 


.   <!  I  '^«l 


J  London.    '.        '  '  '  6i 

« 
and  to  tibe  mass  of  mankiiid,  the  great  thougjbt  contained  in 
Urime^bf  tfSbmum  KmmoMgey  some  of  the  minor  applications 
yAddk  may  be  fixmd  in  his  essays  in  the  GumrtBsm. 
This  was  attempted  in  his  DtsUpm  Utnonm  HyUs  mtd 
whicfa  are  concerned  witii  the  metaphysical  meaning 
liK  material  workL  In  the  Preface  to  this  charming  work 
describes  his  philosophy  as  intended  ^  to  divert  the  busy 
of  man  from  vain  researdies  • .  •  •  to  conduct  men  back 
paradoxes  to  Common  Sense^  in  accordance  with  tiie 
of  Nature  and  Providence— ^that  the  end  of  speculation  is 
and  tibe  improvement  and  r^ulation  ^  our  lives  and 
•  to  counteract  the  pains  that  have  been  taken  [by 
ic  meta{riiysicians]  to  perplex  the  plainest  things,  with  the 
distrust  of  the  senses,  the  doubts  and  scruples,  the 
and  refinements  that  oonir  in  the  very  entrance  of 
sciences  •  •  •  •  to  lay  down  such  Principles  as,  by  an  easy  solu- 
of  Hie  perjriiexities  ^  idiilo8opher%  together  with  their  own 
[llitive  evidence^  may  at  once  recommend  themselves  for  genuine 
the  mind,  and  rescue  philosophy  from  the  endless  pursuits  it  is 
engaged  in;  which,  with  a  plain  demonstration  of  the  Immediate 
Pirovidence  of  an  All-seeing  God,  should  seem  the  readiest  prepa- 
ration, as  well  as  the  strongest  motive,  to  the  study  and  practice 
of  virtue.'  *  If  the  Principles,'  he  adds,  '  which  I  endeavour  to 
propagate  are  admitted  for  true,  the  consequences  which  I  think 
evidently  follow  from  them  are,  that  Scepticism  and  Atheism 
will  be  utterly  destroyed,  many  intricate  points  made  plain, 
great  difficulties  solved,  several  useless  parts  of  Science  re- 
trenched, speculation  referred  to  practice,  and  men  reduced  from 
paradoxes  to  common  sense.'  The  spirit  of  the  Berkeleian  philo- 
S(^y  is  nowhere  more  distinctly  expressed  than  in  these  words. 

Probably,  as  I  have  already  said,  his  last  year  at  Dublin  was 
given  to  preparation  of  these  immortal  Dialogues^  which,  with 
little  dramatic  versatility,  contain  the  most  pleasing  passages 
of  fancy  to  be  found  in  English  metaphysical  literature.  It  is  not 
unlikely  that  a  desire  to  publish  them  with  good  effect  may 
have  been  a  motive  of  his  visit  to  London.  I  have  not  discovered 
the  month  in  17 13  in  which  the  book  appeared.  We  may  conclude 
diat  it  was  after  the  Sunday  in  April  when  Berkeley  was  presented 
to  the  Lord  Berkeley  of  Stratton,  to  whom  it  is  dedicated. 


62  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

It  is  difficult  at  this  distance  of  time  to  ascertain  the  immediate 
influence  upon  philosophical  opinion  of  this  attempt  to  popularize 
the  new  conception  of  the  material  world,  which  is  said  to  have 
made  some  influential  converts  in  England,  among  others,  Dr. 
Smallridge,  the  well-known  Bishop  of  Bristol.  But  even  the 
educated  mind  was  not  then  ripe  for  the  due  appreciation  of  a 
doctrine  so  paradoxical  in  its  sound.  More  than  twenty  years 
were  to  elapse  before  it  found  an  intellectual  audience  in  David 
Hume  and  other  Scotchmen  and  Americans  *. 

The  simple  and  transparent  beauty  of  Berkeley's  style  is  not 
less  remarkable  than  the  ingenuity  of  his  reasonings.  He  emnged 
in  provincial  Ireland  the  most  elegant  writer  of  the  English 
language  for  philosophical  purposes  who  had  then,  or  who  has 
since,  appeared,  at  a  time  too  when  Ireland,  like  Scotland,  was 
in  a  state  of  provincial  barbarism.  The  greatest  master  of  nervoiis 
English  prose  then  living  was  no  doubt  also  an  Irishman.  But 
Swift  had  been  in  England,  and  was  for  years  in  the  family  of 
Sir  William  Temple,  who  brought  English  style  to  perfection, 
and  was  accustomed  to  employ  language  that  is  less  antiquated 
at  the  present  day  than  that  of  any  of  his  contemporaries.  The 
case  of  Berkeley  is  unique. 

In  the  same  year  in  which  the  Dialogues  were  published  at  the 
Half  Moon  in  St.  Paul's  Church-yard,  a  small  volume,  entitled 
C/avis  Universalis  y  or  a  Demonstration  of  the  Non-existence  amd  LmfoS" 
siMity  of  an  External  World^  written  by  Arthur  Collier,  Rector 
of  Langfoid  Magna,  near  Old  Sarum,  was  printed  by  Robert 
Gosling,  at  the  Mitre  and  Crown,  against  St.  Dunstan's  Church 
in  Fleet  Street.  The  coincidence  is  among  the  most  curkxis 
in  the  history  of  philosophy.  There  is  no  evidence  that  either 
author  drew  his  thought  from  the  other.  Berkeley,  at  least,  can- 
not  have  borrowed  from  Collier,  for  the  Frinciples  of  Hnrnsm  Kwem" 
ledge  had  been  in  circulation  for  three  years  when  Collier  pub- 
lished his  Clavis.  So  far  as  the  speculation  of  the  English  Rector 
agrees  with  that  of  the  Dublin  Fellow,  the  agreement  may  be 
refe:red  to  the  common  philosophical  point  of  view  at  the  time. 
The  scientific  world  was  preparing  for  that  reconstruction  of  its 
conception  of  what  sensible  things  and  externality  mean,  which 

*  In  the  Aetn  Emditorum  for  August  1737  there  is  a  short  icoonnt  of  the  DitJogML 


London. 


63 


has  since  darUird  and  simplified  physical  research.  Collier,  in 
his  own  way,  was  not  wanting  in  force;  but  he  expressed  iiis 
acute  thoughts  in  awkward  English,  with  the  pedantry  of  a  school- 
man, and  wanted  the  sentiment,  and  imagination,  and  constant 
recognition  d[  the  relation  of  speculation  to  human  action,  which 
in  the  ciiorse  of  time  made  the  contemporary  writings  of  Berkc- 
!ry  an  iniluencc  that  has  left  its  mark  upon  all  later  thought. 
Tne  theory  of  sense  symbolism,  which  connected  Berkeley  with 
ine  Baconian  movement,  and  also  with  religion,  is  wanting  in 
Colticr,  whose  arid  reasonings  are  divorced  from  the  living  in- 
terests of  men.  The  starting-point  of  Berkeley  was  more  in  the 
nirrrnt  philosophy  of  Locke;  Collier  produced  the  meditative 
rca.'<onings  t:^  a  recluse  student  of  Malcbranche  and  the  schoolmen. 
Collier  too,  like  Butler  and  Berkeley,  addressed  Clarke,  'the 
^physical  patriarch  of  his  time,'  as  he  is  called  by  Sir  James 
ckintosh.  A  letter  from  Collier  to  Clarke,  printed  in  B-n- 
"s  Uf*  sf  Collier^  may  interest  the  reader  who  wishes  to  com- 
e  his  thoughts  with  those  of  Berkeley  regarding  the  metaphysical 
ining  of  a  material  world.  The  letter  contains  an  allusion  to 
author  of  Prinnplti  of  Hamnti  Kna^ltJge.  It  is  much  to  be 
Iprtted  that  we  have  no  extant  letters  from  Clarke  either  to 
leriseley  or  to  Collier. 

And  so  Berkeley's  first  spring  and  summer  in  London  passed  away, 
In  autumn  we  find  him  amidst  other  scenes. 

He  had  been  introduced  by  Swift  to  Mordaunt,  Earl  of  Pt'ter- 

DTot^,  then  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  characters  in  Europe, 
a  few  years  before  had  astonished  the  world   by  tlie  rapid 

piradour  nf  his  movements  in  the  war  of  the  Succession  in  Spain, 
I  siace^  by  his  restless  versatility  as  a  diplomatist.  A  scholar 
I  a  man  of  the  world,  an  enemy  to  religion  who  nevertheless 
said  to  have  written  sermons  to  rival  christian  preachers; 
ighty,  ycl  fond  of  popularity;  of  frugal  habits,  and  possessed  of 
5;  estates,  yet  always  to  appearance  poor  and  in  debt;  the  rival 
Marlborough   in   war,  but   who,   in    non?   of  his   campaigns, 

nxight  solid  advantages  to  his  country;  this  eccentric  p;er  con- 
id  in  his  own  very  varied  personal  experience  much  of  the 

tpcricncc  of  his  generation.     We  have  his  picture  about  this  time 


64  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 


small  well-shaped  thin  man,  with  a  brisk  look,  endowed  with 
a  supernatural  activity,  and  more  than  fifty  years  of  age.  In  HoU 
land,  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century  before,  he  formed  an  intimate 
friendship  with  Locke.  Their  correspondence  proves  the  wit  and 
keen  intellect  of  Peterborough  not  less  than  their  mutual  regard^ 

Berkeley,  with  his  eyes  open  to  what  was  going  on,  was  now 
brought  in  contact  with  this  strange  and  contradictory  character. 
Notwithstanding  the  distrust  in  his  discretion,  the  Earl  of  Peter- 
borough was,  in  November  17 13,  appointed  Ambassador  Extraor- 
dinary to  Victor  Amodeus,  King  of  Sicily,  who  had  then  obtained 
from  Spain  the  crown  of  that  island.  At  Swift's  recommendation, 
he  took  Berkeley  with  him,  as  his  chaplain  and  secretary. 

The  Ambassador  remained  a  fortnight  in  Paris  on  his  way, 
and  went  from  thence  to  Toulon,  parting  from  his  chaplain, 
who  entered  Italy  by  another  route.  At  Toulon,  he  took  ship 
for  Genoa  and  Leghorn,  where  he  again  left  his  chaplain  and 
the  greater  part  of  his  retinue,  embarking  in  a  Maltese  brig 
for  Sicily  with  only  two  servants.  Having  remained  there  for  a 
time  incognito,  he  returned  to  Genoa,  and  awaited  the  arrival 
from  England  of  a  yacht  in  which  his  equipage  was  embarked; 
When  it  came,  he  returned  to  Sicily  and  made  his  appearance 
in  state.  He  was  recalled  from  his  embassy  in  August  1714 — one 
of  the  many  changes  which  followed  the  death  of  the  Queen — 
after  a  mission  unattended  with  any  more  advantageous  result, 
according  to  his  biographer,  than  that  of  relieving  the  ministry 
from  the  embarrassment  either  of  his  opposition  or  his  support. 

Ten  months  in  France  and  Italy  with  Lord  Peterborough  must 
have  been  life  in  a  new  world  to  the  subtle  analyst  who  had  so 
lately  been  introduced  to  the  wits  of  London.  It  does  not  seem, 
however,  after  all,  that  he  saw  much  of  this  inscrutable  personage. 
But  it  was  to  Berkeley  the  beginning  of  a  career  of  wandering, 

^  Peterborough  was  afterwards  commemonited  by  Pope,  amoag  the  other  companions  of 
his  Tusculam — 

•  There,  my  retreat  the  best  companions  grace, 
Chiefs  out  of  war,  and  statesmen  out  of  place. 
There  St.  John  mingles  with  my  friendly  bowl 
The  feast  oi  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul : 
And  he  whose  lightning  pierced  the  Iberian  lines. 
Now  forms  my  quincunx,  and  now  ranks  my  rines. 
Or  tames  the  genius  of  the  stubborn  plain. 
Almost  as  quickly  at  he  conquered  Spain.' 

ImiiatioHs  o/Horaei^  Sat.  I.  135. 


France.  65 


vhich,  with  little  interruption,  lasted  fiw  nunjr  jrean,  during 
which  philosophy  and  the  printing  press  were  in  the  bftd^nmd. 
He  left  the  thought,  of  which  he  had  Dow  delivered  bimaelf  to 
the  world,  to  do  its  work,  and,  with  the  ardour  of  man]/  Toutli, 
directed  his  inquiring  eye  to  nature  and  bumgn  life  on  tiie  Gon- 
tioent  of  Europe. 

By  the  statutes  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  a.  Junior  Fellow  can 
obtain  leave  of  absence  for  sixty-three  days  with  ttie  consent  of 
the  Provost.  For  a  longer  absence,  a  dlqiensation  must  be  ob- 
tained from  the  Crown.  The  following  (^een's  Letter  to  the 
Provost  and  Fellows,  wiiich  I  have  obtained  fiom  the  Register, 
gives  the  reasons  for  which  a  leave  of  absence  for  two  years  was 
now  granted  to  Berkeley : — 
Anne  R. 

Tniaty  and  well  beloved,  we  grett  ywi  wefl.  Whereas  by 
f  statutes  of  that  our  College,  the  Fellows  thereof  are  not  permitted  to 
be  absent  froin  Lhence  above  sixt}--three  days  in  ai^  one  year  without  onr 
Royal  Dispensation  in  that  behalf.  And  whenas  famnUe  suit  bath  been 
made  unto  us  in  behalf  of  our  trusty  and  wdl  beloved  George  Berkeley, 
me  <^  y*  Junior  Fellows  of  that  our  College,  that  we  woidd  give  him 
kave  to  travel  and  return  abroad  during  y^  space  of  two  years,  for  y* 
recovery  of  his  health  and  his  improvement  in  learning ;  we  being 
padousty  pleased  to  condescend  thereimto,  have  thought  fit  to  dispense 
with  y«  said  Statutes  of  residence,  and  all  other  Statutes,  on  behalf  of  y* 
nid  George  Berkeley.  And  our  will  and  pleasure  is  that  y^  said  George 
Berkeley,  during  y«  aforesaid  time  of  two  years,  have,  receive,  and  enjoy 
an  profits,  priviledges,  and  advantages  to  his  Fellowship  belonging,  and 
that  nich  his  absence  shall  in  no  wise  prejudice  him  in  y«  right  and  pre- 
tensions to  his  said  Fellowship,  whereof  we  have  thought  fit  hereby  to 
give  you  notice,  that  due  obedience  be  paid  to  our  pleasure  herein  imme- 
diately.    And  so  wc  bid  you  farewell 

Given  at  our  Castle  at  Windsor,  y«  ninth  day  of  September  1713,  in 
the  twelfth  year  of  our  reign.     By  Her  Majesty's  command. 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Beilceley's  arrangements  with  Lord  Peterborough  were  probably 
made  in  August.  His  leave  to  travel  and  live  abroad  for  two 
years  was  recorded  by  the  College  on  the  6th  of  November. 

We   have  already  had  a  revelation  of  Berkeley's  intellectual 

VOL.  IV.  F 


66  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

activity,  in  his  own  words — some  of  than  published  by  him,  and 
others  not  written  ioc  puMication.  Now,  far  the  first  time,  we 
have  an  account,  also  in  his  own  words,  of  some  of  his  move- 
ments from  place  to  place.  The  earbest  of  his  letters  that  has 
been  preserved  is  addressed  to  Thomas  Prior.  It  was  written  at 
Paris  a  few  days  after  his  departure  from  England.  He  left 
London,  it  seems,  on  the  1 3th,  and  arrived  there  on  the  20th  of 
November.  This  is  his  account  of  the  journey,  and  of  his  first 
impressions  of  France : — 

Paris,  November  25,  1713,  NS. 
Dear  Tom, 

From  London  to  Calais  I  came  in  the  company  of  a  Flamand,  a 
Spaniard,  a  Frenchman,  and  three  English  servants  of  my  Lord.  The 
three  gentlemen  being  of  those  different  nations  obliged  me  to  speak  the 
French  language  (which  is  now  familiar),  and  gave  me  the  opportunity 
of  seeing  much  of  the  world  in  a  litde  compass.  After  a  very  remark* 
able  escape  from  rocks  and  banks  of  sand,  and  darkness  and  storm,  and 
the  hazards  that  attend  rash  and  ignorant  seamen,  we  arrived  at  Calais 
in  a  vessel  which,  returning  the  next  day,  was  cast  away  in  the  harbour 
in  open  daylight,  (as  I  think  I  already  told  you).  From  Calais,  Colond 
du  Hamel  left  it  to  my  choice  either  to  go  with  him  by  post  to  Paris,  or 
come  after  in  the  stage-coach.  I  chose  the  latter ;  and,  on  November  i, 
O.  S,  embarked  in  the  stage-coach  with  a  company  that  were  all  perfect 
strangers  to  me.  There  were  two  Scotch,  and  one  English  gentleman. 
One  of  the  former  happened  to  be  the  author®  of  the  Voyage  to  St.  KUda^ 
and  the  Account  of  the  Western  Isles,  We  were  good  company  on  the 
road ;  and  that  day  se'ennight  came  to  Paris. 

I  have  been  since  taken  up  in  viewing  churches,  convents,  palaces, 
.colleges,  &c.,  which  are  very  numerous  and  magnificent  in  this  towa 
The  splendour  and  riches  of  these  things  surpasses  belief;  but  it  were 
endless  to  descend  to  particulars.  I  was  present  at  a  disputation  in  the 
Sorbonne,  which  indeed  had  much  of  the  French  fire  in  it.  I  saw  the 
Irish  and  the  English  colleges.  In  the  latter  I  saw,  inclosed  in  a  coffin, 
the  body  of  the  late  king  James '.     Bits  of  the  coffin,  and  of  the  clodi  thai 

*  NfunKKh  Martin,  a  native  of  the  Isle  of  1698,  and  his  Description   of  ibe  WnMit 

Skye,  born  about  1665.   He  travelled  much.  Islands  0/ Scotland  in   1703.     The  latta 

aiHl  was  induced  by  his  friends  in  the  Royal  contains  a  curious  account  of  the  Second 

S\Kicty  to  explore  the  Western  Islands  of  Sight.     Martin  is  referred  to  in  Johnson'^ 

S^H^land.      Some  of   his  observations  ap-  Jowmey  to  the  Western  Islands, 

(KJtrrd  in  the  Transactions  of  the  Society.  *  James  II,  who  died  in  1 701,  at  St.Gtf- 

His  l*)y«vr'  f^  ^f'  Kilda  was  published  in  mains. 


I  XnJ  Frame:-  6fi 


f" 

I  lungs  the  room,  have  been  cut  avray  for  i«&(i>>  he  bdag  Mteemed  s 
great  saint  by  the  people.  The  day  after  I  came  tQ  town,  I  dined  at  the! 
ambassador  of  Sicily's ;  and  this  day  with  Ur.  Frior ".  I  snatched  ui 
opportunity  to  mention  you  to  him,  and  do  jam  character  justice.  To^ 
QiotTow  I  intend  to  \-isit  Father  Malcbrsndief,  and  disoourse  turn  on 
certain  points.  I  have  some  reasons  to  dedtne  qteaking  of  the  oaaotiy: 
or  villages  that  I  saw  as  I  came  along. 

My  Lord  is  just  now  arrived,  and  teOl  me  be  hu  an  of^KUtimity  of 
sending  my  letters  to  my  friends  to-monow  nKMHiag,  which  occasions 
my  writing  this.  My  humble  service  to  3b-  Jdin  JUwdon  **,  Mn.  Rawdon^ 
Mrs.  Kempsy,  and  all  other  friends.  Mjr  Loid  thinlta  he  shall  stay  a 
fortnight  here.     I  am,  dear  Tom,  your  afiectionate  hiimbte  servant, 

G.  BERKELEY.    : 

I  must  give  you  the  trouble  of  putting  die  indosed  in  the  penny-post 
To  Mr.  Thomas  Prior,  Pall  Mall  Coffet  Hmati 

A  month  was  spent  in  Paris.  Anotbnr  fottni^  carried  Berkeley,- 
and  two  companions,  Colonel  du  fbmel  and  Mr.  O^etborpe", 
by  the  route  into  Italy  which  thejr  preferred,  tbrot^  Savojr.' 
They  crossed  Mount  Cenis  on  Nev  Year's  Day^  in  1714.  Here 
is  Berkeley's  narrative  of  the  formidable  journey,  in  a  letter  ti3 
Prior  from  Turin; — 

Turin,  Jan.  6,  N.S.  1713-4. 
Dear  Tom, 
Ar  Lyons,  where  I  was  about  eight  days,  it  was  left  to  my  choice 
whether  I  would  go  from   thence  to  Toulon,  and  there   embark  for 
Genoa,  or  else  pass  through  Savoy,  cross  the  Alps,  and  so  through  Italy. 

■*  Mitthcw    Piiar,   ihc    diplomatitt   lad  Court  of  Oreit  Biitain  to  the  king  of  Sidly. 

pott.    Hit  origin  wai  obicurc,  and  1  trice  See  Nkhol'i  Ul.  Ante.  vol.  II.  p.  19,      But 

iKi  cwuKCtion  wiih  Thomai  Priai.  B«k(k]r,  in  the  following  letter,  cilli  hit 

"  Tbii  if  the  only  ailuiian  by  Betkeley  companion 'Adjut»nl-GeneialofiheQueen'« 

10  peiKAUt  inlCTCouiK  with  Matebranche.  tbrcet.'  wfaich,  at  thit   time,  Jam«i  Ogle- 

"  Father  oi  the  Gni  Eirl  of  Moin.     He  ihorpe  could  hardly  hire  been.    Hii  brother 

married,  in  1717,  »  daughter  of  Sit  Richiril  Theophilui    (who    about    1714    retired    to 

Lrringe.  Biit.  ^Kalter  of  the  Irish  HoUie  Sicily)  wai.  in  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Wright 

of  Conimoni.  (3  biographer  of  the  General),  (he  Mr.  Ogle- 

■■  Ji  has  hrcii  awciitd  aud  denied  thai  ihij  ihoipe  mentioned  by  Berkeley.     1  he  rtme- 

wu  Jamet  Oglethorpe  (afterwiidi  General),  rican  biographer  of  Jamei  Oglethorpe  lug- 

the  phUanthiopiit,  and  founder  of  Georgia,  in  ge^li  thai  thii  tuppo»d  companionihlp  with 

America.      General  Jamei  Oglethorpe  wii  Berkeley  may  hare  alforded  opportunity  for 

bom  ia  Wenniinitet  in    16S9,  and  entered  concerting  philinlhropic  plant,  the  etTecji  uf 

the    army    u    eniign    (according    to    hit  which  were  ailerwar^  apparent  in  the  life 

latctt  biognphet)   in   1710.      In   1714,  he  of  each.     Jamo  Oglelhorpe  died  in  17S5. 

it  laid  to    hare   been  in   the    mile  of  the       In    hii    -"  —  ■- ■"    "' 

Earl  of  PeteriMron^,  Ambauador  ftom  the  Johnioi 


68  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkel^.  [cH. 

I  chose  the  latter  route,  though  I  was  obliged  to  ride  post,  in  company 
of  Colonel  du  Hamel  and  Mr.  Oglethorpe,  Adjutant-General  of  die 
Queen's  forces,  who  were  sent  with  a  letter  from  my  Lord  to  the  King^s 
mother  at  Turin. 

The  first  day  we  rode  from  Lyons  to  Chambery,  the  capital  of  Savoy, 
which  is  reckoned  sixty  miles.  The  Lionnois  and  Dauphin^  were  veiy 
well ;  but  Savoy  was  a  perpetual  chain  of  rocks  and  mountains,  almost 
impassible  for  ice  and  snow.  And  yet  I  rode  post  through  it,  and  came 
off  with  only  four  falls ;  from  which  I  received  no  other  damage  thia 
the  breaking  my  sword,  my  watch,  and  my  snuff-box. 

On  New  Year's  Day  we  passed  Mount  Cenis,  one  of  the  most  difficult 
and  formidable  parts  of  the  Alps  which  is  ever  passed  over  by  mortal 
men.  We  were  carried  in  open  chairs  by  men  used  to  scale  these  rocks 
and  precipices,  which  in  this  season  are  more  slippery  and  dangerous 
than  at  other  times,  and  at  the  best  are  high,  craggy,  and  steep  enouj^ 
to  cause  the  heart  of  the  most  valiant  man  to  melt  within  him.  My  life 
often  depended  on  a  single  step.  No  one  will  think  that  I  exaggerate, 
who  considers  what  it  is  to  pass  the  Alps  on  New  Year's  Day.  But  I 
shall  leave  particulars  to  be  described  by  the  fire-side. 

We  have  been  now  five  days  here,  and  in  two  or  three  more  design  to 
set  forward  towards  Genoa,  where  we  are  to  join  my  Lord,  who  em- 
barked at  Toulon.  I  am  now  hardened  against  wind  and  weather,  earth 
and  sea,  frost  and  snow ;  can  gallop  all  day  long,  and  sleep  but  three  or 
four  hours  at  night.  The  court  here  is  polite  and  splendid,  the  city 
beautiful,  the  churches  and  colleges  magnificent,  but  not  much  lesuning 
stirring  among  them.  However,  all  orders  of  people,  clergy  and  laity, 
are  wonderfully  civil,  and  everywhere  a  man  finds  his  account  in  beiog 
an  Englishman,  that  character  alone  being  sufficient  to  gain  respect  My 
service  to  all  friends,  particularly  to  Sir  John  and  Mrs.  Rawdon,  and 
Mrs.  Kempsy.  It  is  my  advice  that  they  do  not  pass  the  Alps  in  their 
way  to  Sicily.     I  am,  dear  Tom,  yours,  &c., 

At  the  end  of  six  vtreeks  more  vtre  find  Berkeley  at  Leg^XMH, 
vjrhere  he  lived  for  three  months,  while  Lord  Peterborough  was 
in  Sicily.  The  circumstances  are  thus  reported  to  Prior,  in  a 
letter  which  contains  a  reference  to  the  condition  of  France^ 
in  the  last  year  of  Lewis  XIV: — 

Dear  Tom, 
Mrs.  Rawdon  is  too  thin,  and  Sir  John  too  fat,  to  agree  with  the 
English  climate.    1  advise  them  to  make  haste  and  transport  themselves 


Ilafy. 


69 


:cio  this  wann  clear  air.     Your  best  way  is  to  come  through  France ; 
!!oi  nuike  no  long  slay  there ;   for  the  air  is  loo  cold,  and  there  are 
instances  enough  of  poverty  and  distress  to  spoil  the  mirth  of  any  one 
■bo  feets  the  sufieringa  of  his  fellow -creatures,     I  would  prescribe  you 
"•o  Of  three  operas  ai  Paris,  and  as  many  days  amusement  at  Versailles. 
My  next  redpe  shall  be,  10  ride  post  from  Paris  to  Toulon,  and  there  to 
onbaik  for  Genoa;  for  I  would  by  no  means  have  you  shaken  to  pieces, 
u  I  was,  riding  post  over  the  rocks  of  Savoy,  or  put  out  of  humour  by 
he  most  horrible  precipices  of  Mount  Cenis,  that  part  of  the  Alps  which 
■ides  Hedmonl  from  Savoy.     T  shall  not  anticipate  your  pleasure  by 
ly  description  of  Italy  or  France  ;  only  with  regard  10  the  latter,  I  can- 
H  help  observing,  that  the  Jacobites  have  little  to  hope,  and  others  little 
I  feai,  front  that  reduced  nation.     The  king  indeed  looks  as  he  neither 
■nted  meat  nor  drink,  and  his  palaces  are  in  good  repair ;  but  through- 
it  tbe  land  there  is  a  different  face  of  things.     I  staid  about  a  month  at 
kris,  eight  days  at  Lyons,  eleven  at  Turin,  three  weeks  at  Genoa ;  and 
B  DOW  to  be  above  a  fortnight  with  my  Lord's  secretary  (an  Italian)  and 
Rne  others  of  his  retinue,  my  Lord  having  gone  aboard  a  Maltese  vessel 
hence  to  Sicily,  with  a  couple  of  servants.     He  designs  to  stay 
lere  incognito  a  few  days,  and  then  return  hither,  having  put  off  his 
rtiiic  entry  till  the  yacht  with  his  equipage  arrives. 
!  have  wrote  to  you  several  times  before  by  post-     In  answer  to  all 
gr  lettets,  I  desire  you  to  send  me  one  great  one,  close  writ,  and  filled 
all  sides,  containing  a  particular  account  of  all  transactions  in  London 
sd  Dublin.     Inclose  it  in  a  cover  to  my  Lord  Ambassador,  and  that 
gxin  in  another  cover  to  Mr.  Hare  at  my  Lord  Bolingbroke's  office. 
tyou  have  a  mind  10  travel  only  in  the  map,  here  is  a  list  of  all  the 
.  where  t  lodged  since  my  leaving  England,  in  their  natural  order  ; 
,   Boulogne,  Montreuil,  Abbeville,  Poix,  Beauvais,  Paris,  Melun, 
Sle  Ncufe  le  Roi,  Vermonton,  Saulieu,  Chalons,  Ma^on,  Lyons,  Chara- 
By,  Sl  Jean  de  Maurienne,  Lanebourg,  Susa,  Turin,  Alexandria,  Campo 
bro,  Genoa.  Lestri  di  Levante,  Lerici,  Leghome.     My  humble  service 
I  Sir  John,  Mrs.  Rawdon  and  Mrs,  Kempsy,  Mr.  Digby,  Mr.  French,  Ac. 
im,  dear  Tom,  your  afTectionaie  humble  servant, 

G.  BERKELEY. 
Ltgktnm,  Fth.  16,  N.S.  1713-4. 

An  amusing  incident  of  this  Leghorn  residence  was  authentic 
lied  long  after  Berkeley's  death,  in  the  Gent/eman't  MagaiJnr^*. 
\  Kcnnct,  the  well-known  author  of  the  Roman  Anri^ultles,  a 

"  Vol  XLVI.  p.  J69, 


70  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley,  [cH. 

brother  of  Bishop  Kennet,  and  a  friend  of  Addison,  happened  to  be 
chaplain  at  the  English  factory  at  Leghorn  during  Berkeley's  stay. 
He  had  been  sent  there  in  1706,  and  maintained  a  difficult 
position  with  moral  courage.  Leghorn  was  the  only  place  in 
Italy  at  which  the  English  service  was  then  tolerated  by  the 
Government,  a  favour  obtained  from  the  Grand  Duke  at  the 
particular  instance  of  Queen  Anne.  Kennet  asked  Berkeley  td 
officiate  for  him  one  Sunday.  The  day  after,  a  procession  of 
priests  in  surplices,  with  sundry  formalities,  entered  the  room 
in  which  he  was  sitting,  and  without  taking  any  notice  of 
its  wondering  occupant,  marched  round  it,  uttering  certain  prayers. 
His  fears  at  once  suggested  a  visit  from  the  Inquisition.  As  soon 
as  the  priests  were  gone,  he  ventured  cautiously  to  ask  the  cause 
of  the  sudden  invasion,  and  was  amused  by  the  information  that 
this  was  the  season  appointed  by  the  Church  for  blessing  the 
houses  of  Catholics,  that  they  might  be  relieved  of  rats  and  other 
domestic  vermin. 

Berkeley's  imagined  offence  on  the  Sunday  in  question  was  not 
his  only  one.  He  preached  several  times  in  the  factory  chapel  at 
Leghorn. 

In  May  he  addressed  a  more  famous  correspondent  than  Prior. 
The  following  complimentary  letter  was  sent  to  Pope,  on  occasion 
of  the  Rape  of  the  Lock^  an  enlarged  edition  of  which,  with  the 
author's  name,  had  appeared  in  the  spring  of  the  year : — 

Leghorn  J  May  i,  17 14. 

As  I  take  ingratitude  to  be  a  greater  crime  than  impertinence,  I  chose 
rather  to  run  the  risk  of  being  thought  guilty  of  the  latter,  than  not  to 
return  you  my  thanks  for  the  very  agreeable  entertainment  you  just  now 
gave  me.  I  have  accidentally  met  with  your  Rape  of  the  Lock  here, 
having  never  seen  it  before*".  Style,  painting,  judgment,  spirit,  I  had 
already  admired  in  your  other  writings  ;  but  in  this  I  am  charmed  with 
the  magic  of  your  invention,  with  all  those  images,  allusions,  and  in- 
explicable beauties  which  you  raise  so  surprisingly,  and  at  the  same  time 
so  naturally,  out  of  a  trifle.  And  yet  I  cannot  say  that  I  was  more 
pleased  with  the  reading  of  it,  than  I  am  with  the  pretext  it  gives  me 
to  renew  in  your  thoughts  the  remembrance  of  one  who  values  no 
happiness  beyond  the  friendship  of  men  of  wit,  learning,  and  good 
nature. 

^  The  poem  was  »t  first  published  (anonymously)  in  171a. 


Ml.] 

mneniber  to  have  heard  yon  mention  some  half  fonned  design  of  1 
conih^  to  Italy.    What  might  we  not  e.tpect  from  a  muse  chat  sings   [ 
K>  weB  in  the  bleak  cUmatc  of  England,  if  she  felt  the  same  w 
anil  breaibcd  the  same  air  with  ^'i^gil  and  Horace. 

Tho*  is  here  an  incredible  number  of  poets  that  have  all  the  inclina- 
tion, boi  want  the  genius,  or  perhaps  the  an  of  die  ancients.  Some 
voong  tbcm,  who  understand  English,  begin  to  relish  our  authors ;  and 
I  am  inforrned  that  at  Florence  tbey  liave  translated  Milton  into  Italian 
Tcree'*.  If  one  who  knows  so  well  how  to  write  like  the  old  Latin  poets 
tame  aiDOng  thero.  it  would  probably  be  a  means  to  retrieve  them  from 
ttidr  cold  trivial  conceits,  to  an  imitation  of  their  predecessors. 

A«  mcTcbaots,  antiquaries,  men  of  pleasure,  Ac,  have  all  different 
•ieirs  in  travetliiig,  I  know  not  whether  it  might  not  be  worth  a  poet's 
while  to  iravel,  in  order  to  store  his  mind  with  strong  images  of  nature. 

Gfccn  fields  and  groves,  flowery  meadows  and  purling  streams,  are 
aowbrre  in  such  perfection  as  in  England ;  but  if  you  would  know  light- 
some days,  wann  suns,  and  blue  skies,  you  must  come  lo  Italy ;  and  to 
enable  a  man  to  describe  rocks  and  precipices,  it  is  absolutely  necessary 
tttai  be  pass  the  Alps. 

Yon  win  easily  perceive  ihai  it  is  self  interest  makes  me  so  fond  of 
giving  advice  to  one  who  has  no  need  of  it  If  you  came  into  these 
parts,  ]  should  fly  to  see  you.  I  am  here  {by  the  favour  of  my  good 
friend  the  Dean  of  Sl  Patrick's}  in  quality  of  chaplain  to  the  Earl  of 
Peterborough,  who  about  three  months  since  left  the  greatest  part  of  his 
family  in  this  town.  God  knows  how  long  we  shall  stay  here. 
I  am  yours  &c. 

The  death  of  the  Queen  on  the  ist  of  August  1714  suddenly 
transformed  the  whole  aspect  of  things  in  England.  It  probably 
t^rteoed  Berkeley's  stay  on  the  Continent.  On  the  arrival  of 
George  I  fn.im  Hanover,  the  Tory  ministry  was  dissolved,  and 
Orfbrd  and  Bolingbrokc  were  impeached.  Peterborough  was  re- 
called. He  returned  indignant  at  a  want  of  confidence  with  which 
he  now  believed  that  he  had  been  treated  throughout  the  negotia- 
tions which  preceded  the  Peace  of  Utrecht.  Bolingbroke,  who 
lad  at  once  withdrawn  into  France  to  avoid  the  storm  in  England, 
met  flie  'ex-ambassador,  lingering  on  his  homeward  journey,  on 

"  ApfatKaify  t!ii»  wit   i    ttititUlion  of  lithed.     See  7Wrf"i  MilKm.  vol.  IV.  p.  535 

/>aWM  l4Mr  l>)r  ihe  AbM  SaJvini.  which  (rd,   i8j)),     RoJIi'i    venion,   pablithed    at 

wu  »MO  in  mutntaipt  h  Floieacc  by  ihe  Lonilan  in  17.15.  it  the  eulied  luliin  tnni- 

Tqgwer  Kkhirdua.  W  ht>  not  bun  pab-  hiion  of  MiliMi  known  to  be  in  ptmt. 


72  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

the  road  between  Paris  and  Calais.  Peterborough,  it  is  said, 
took  the  opportunity  of  showing  his  resentment,  by  passing  him 
without  exchanging  a  word. 

Berkeley  returned  to  London  in  August  1714.  It  is  difficult  to 
follow  his  movements  for  some  time  after  this.  We  have  a  glimpse 
of  him  in  illness  in  one  of  Arbuthnot's  chatty  letters  to  Swift: — 
*  Poor  philosopher  Berkeley  has  now  the  idea  of  health,  which  was 
very  hard  to  produce  in  him ;  for  he  had  an  Idea  of  a  strange  fever 
upon  him,  so  strong  that  it  was  very  hard  to  destroy  it  by  intro- 
ducing a  contrary  one.'  This  letter  is  dated  October  19,  17 14.  It 
is  hardly  necessary  to  refer  to  its  equivocal  use  of  the  term  '  idea.' 

The  death  of  the  Queen  destroyed  Berkeley's  chance  of  Church 
preferment  through  Swift  or  Lord  Peterborough.  The  Tories 
were  now  out  of  power.  It  is  not  unlikely,  however,  that  an 
efibrt  was  made  soon  after  his  return  to  London  to  find  a  place 
for  him  in  the  Irish  establishment.  The  suspicion  of  Jacobitism, 
raised  by  his  common-places  on  Passive  Ohedience^  is  said  to  have 
now  met  him  again.  He  was  presented,  it  seems,  to  the  Prince 
and  Princess  of  Wales  by  Samuel  Molyneux,  who  was  secretary  to 
the  Prince:  he  was  then  recommended  by  the  Princess  to  Loixi 
Galway  for  promotion  in  the  Church.  Lord  Galway,  having  heard 
of  the  sermons,  alleged  a  rumour  of  Jacobitism.  Mr.  Molyneux 
produced  the  Discourse^  and  proved  that  what  Berkeley  maintained 
was,  the  divine  right  of  Government,  and  not  the  divine  right  of 
the  Stewart  Kings  ^''.  We  are  not  told  when  this  incident  occurred 
It  might  have  been  in  1715,  when  the  Duke  of  Grafton  and  Lord 
Galway  were  Lords  Justices  in  Ireland,  and  the  Prince  of  Wales 
Chancellor  of  the  University  of  Dublin.  I  have  not  found,  how- 
ever, that  Berkeley  visited  Ireland  in  that  or  the  preceding  year. 

The  following  scrap,  an  extract  preserved  from  a  letter  from 
Berkeley  to  Pope,  can  hardly  have  been  written  in  London : — 

/«^7,  1715. 
....  Some  days  ago  three  or  four  gentlemen  and  myself,  exerting  that 
right  which  all  the  readers  pretend  to  over  authors,  sat  in  judgment  upon 
the  two  new  translations  of  the  first  Iliad  *'.    Without  partiality  to  my 

^  The  incident  is  mentioned  by  Stock.  other  version  referred  to  is  Tickell's,  wboM 

"  The  first  rolume  of  Pope's  Homer  was      translation  of  the  First  Book  of  the  Diad 

bsued  to  subscribers  in  June  1715.     The      appeared  in  the  same  year.     It  was  the  oc- 


England  and  Fra 


i  .1 

bUDtmneD.  I  assure  you  ihcy  all  gave  ihe  preference  where  it  was  due ; 
nnanimouslj  of  opinion  ihat  yours  was  equally  just  to  the  sense 
liUi  Mr.  's,  and  without  comparison,  more  easy,  more  poetical,  and 

Me  sublime.     But  I  will  say  no  tnore  on  such  a  threadbare  subject  as 

ur  bte  performance  at  this  time 

It  was  probably  in  1715  that  Dr.  Ashe,  the  Bishop  of  Clogher, 
'ift's    friend,  by  whom  Berkeley  was  admitted  to  holy  orders, 

skcd  bim  to  accompany  his  only  son,  St.  George  Ashe,  who  was 
ir  to  a  considerable  property,  in  a  tour  on  the  Continent,  as  his 
ivelling  tutor.     The  Register  of  Trinity  College  informs  us  that, 

on  the  19th  of  November  1715,  leave  of  absence  was  granted  for 

<ro  years  longer  to  George  Berkeley,  Junior  Fellow,  to  travel  and 

emain  abroad.' 
BcJiare  November  we  hear  of  him  in  France. 
Father  Malcbranche  died  at  Paris  on  the  13th  of  October  1715, 
his  77th  year.     If  we  are  to  believe  the  common  story  of  his 
rt  illDCSS,  Berkeley  and  young  Ashe  must  have  been  there  in  the 
a  of  that  year,  for  Berkeley,  according  to  the  story,  was  the 

occasional  cause'  of  the  death  of  Malebranche.  He  had  proposed 
visit  the  aged  philosopher  of  Fiance  nearly  two  years  before,  when 
;  was  in  Paris  with  Lord  Peterborough '^  Here  is  the  account 
ven  by  Stock  of  a  meeting  during  this  second  visit  to  Paris : — 

'  Having  now  [17 15  ?]  more  leisure  than  when  he  first  passed  through 
U  diy  [November  1713],  he  took  care  to  pay  his  respects  to  his 
iBtrious  rival  in  metaphysical  sagacity".  He  found  the  ingenious  Father 
a  ceD,  cooking,  in  a  small  pipkin,  a  medicine  for  a  disorder  with  which 
■  was  then  troubled — an  inflammation  on  the  lungs.  The  conversation 
dundly  turned  on  Berkeley's  system,  of  which  he  had  received  some 
io»lc<lge  from  a  iranslatioo  just  published".  But  the  issue  of  the  debate 
nnd  tragical  to  poor  Malebranche.  In  the  heat  of  the  disputation,  he 
)A  bis  voice  so  high,  and  gave  way  so  freely  to  the  natural  impetuosity 
nun  of  pans  and  a  Frenchman,  that  he  brought  on  himself  a  violent 
of  his  disorder,  which  carried  him  off  a  few  days  after  ".' 


French  ot  tnj  or  Berlcelcy't  i 


«rly  « 


'7'S- 


mlinpHi 


I 


1 10  Prior,  p.  6;. 
Boat  imptic*  Uut  he  di 
in  1713. 
•  I  In**  no  ln«  of  i  tnntli 


I*  S«c  alio  Biog.  Brit.  an. '  Bwkele) 
Adi-ocit'i  Dirt.  Hill.  Pari.  There  i> 
lion  of  Ihe  itniy  bj  De  Quincej,  i 
qaa£nt  eiuy.  Murdtr  conttdtrtd  fji  < 

rl-  Fi«t  Am. 


74  L,ife  and  Letters  of  Berkeley,  [ch. 

That  the  most  subtle  metaphysician  in  the  British  Islands 
should  encounter  the  profound  and  eloquent  French  mystic  in 
such  circumstances,  and  with  an  issue  so  tragical,  is  one  of  those 
incidents  upon  which  imagination  likes  to  exercise  itself.  It  is 
unfortunate  that  we  have  no  authentic  account  of  the  meeting 
especially  one  by  Berkeley  himself,  nor  any  authority  that  I  can 
find,  except  the  biographers,  for  its  having  occurred  at  all.  The 
biographers  of  Malebranche  do  not  refer  to  any  visit  of  Berkeley  to 
the  Oratoire'\     They  do  not  even  name  him. 

We  can  however  conjecture  what  some  of  the  points  in  dis- 
pute might  have  been.  Malebranche  nowhere  criticises  Berkeley. 
But  we  know  many  of  Berkeley's  objections  to  Malebranche. 
In  his  published,  and  in  his  hitherto  unpublished  writings,  he 
is  fond  of  insisting  upon  differences  between  their  respective 
doctrines.  The  individualities  of  men,  and  the  imperfection  of 
janguage,  make  it  impossible,  indeed,  for  one  independent  thinker 
to  enter  perfectly  into  the  thinking  of  another.  Speculative  per- 
sons, in  their  conferences  and  controversies,  are  inevitably  at  cross 
purposes;  and  such  collisions,  though  they  sometimes  aggravate 
the  apparent  antagonism,  are  found  in  the  end,  in  the  case  of  those 
who  are  eclectically  disposed,  to  diminish  it.  But  there  was  more 
room  than  usual  for  irrelevant  reasoning  in  a  dispute  between  an 
eloquent  mystic,  who  had  been  accustomed  during  a  long  life  to 
speculate  under  the  inspiration  of  Des  Cartes,  reinforced  by  St 
Augustin  and  Plato,  and  a  young  ardent  thinker,  who  valued  thought 
mainly  as  a  means  of  regulating  human  actions,  and  whose  origin- 
ality and  ingenuity  had  been  at  first  exercised  within  the  atmosphere 
.of  Locke.  Locke  himself  professed  not  to  be  able  to  understand 
.Malebranche  2*,  and  Berkeley  says  nearly  as  much,  when  he  alludes 
to  the  fsLvourite  formula  of  contemporary  French  philosophy — 
that  things  are  thought  by  men  in  the  Ideas  of  God.  But  enou^ 
of  real  difference  remained  for  more  than  a  verbal  dispute. 

The  Cartesian  antithesis  of  extended  being  and  thinking  beings 

mutually  opposed,  and  incapable  of  being  brought  into  the  relation 

.of  sense-knowledge  except  through  the  medium  of  representative 

^  The  learned  Abb^  Blampignon,  author  to  ?ive  me  any  light  or  confirmatioii. 
of  the  Etude  sur  Malehrancbe^  d^apr^  des  ^  See    Locke's    Examinatiom   of  Male- 

'  Documtnti  Manuscripts  suivie   d^une   Cor-  branche,  passim, 
rtspondanee  in^ditt  (Paris,  1862),  is  unable 


m.]  Fraiu€.  75 

of  some  sort,  adopted  by  Malebranchc,  could  not  be  fully 
leconcilrd  with  BerkclcT's  account  of  perception.  Malebrancbe, 
ng  this  antithesis,  tried  to  determine  what  the  ideal  medium 
through  which  the  antithesis  is  converted  into  a  synthesis 
in  knowletlgr.  The  representations  of  things  which  the  soul 
Tcoeivcs  in  sense  cannot,  he  argued,  be  passive  impressions  pro- 
ibcrd  by  the  citcinal  thing  itself,  as  the  Peripatetics  supposed; 
they  cannot  be  effects  of  the  internal  activity  of  the  human  mind 
that  is  conscious  of  them ;  nor  can  they  have  been  created  with 
Bs  and  in  us  \  and,  further,  external  things  cannot  be  perceived 
by  men  in  the  way  they  are  conscious  of  their  own  sensations  and 
passions.  He  concluded,  accordingly,  that  what  we  arc  said  to 
know  in  sense  is  really  known  in  and  through  God's  relation  to 
ais  as  finite  spirits.  God  contains  us  and  the  universe  in  Him- 
lelf,  and  ail  CKtemal  things  are  discernible  in  their  tnie  meaning 
in  His  intellectual  acts.  So  far  as  the  sensible  world  is  an  in- 
telligible world,  God  is  the  sensible  world.  Supreme  Mind  is  the 
place  of  finite  spirits,  in  the  same  way  as  Space  is  the  place  of 
sensible  things  j  and  our  spirits  receive  from  this  relation  to  the 
One  Spirit  all  their  true  thoughts  about  things.  Our  volitions  as 
well  as  our  ideas  of  sensible  things  emanate  from  Him  in  whom  we 
live  and  move  and  have  our  being.  Sense-perception  is  no  excep- 
,tiao  to  the  law.  In  perceiving  external  things  in  the  senses,  we  are 
pmictpating,  more  or  less  adequately,  in  the  Thoughts  of  God. 
In  tliis  participation  the  antithesis  of  finite  thought  and  extended 
thing  disappears '\ 

Berkeley  does  not  require  this  Dens  ex  machina.  With  him  there 
is  no  knot  to  be  cut.  There  is  not  the  txtemal  thing  and  the 
^tfrettntat'rvg  idea.  The  very  sense-idea  itself  of  which  we  are 
percipient  «  the  external  thing,  so  far  as  there  is  an  external 
thing  at  all.  Sense-ideas  are  with  Berkeley  real  and  presenta- 
"bve;  not  representative  images.  Being  themselves  the  external 
Tcality,  they  do  not  require  the  hypothesis  of  an  ideal  medium, 
'Divine  or  other,  to  help  us  to  know  them.  'I  am  certain,' 
he  says,  'of  that  which  Malebranche  seems  to  doubt,  viz. 
ihe  existence  of  bodies.'  The  supposed  meaning  of  Scrip- 
ture or  the  Church,  and  the  bare   possibility  that  Matter  may 

•  Sk  Milcbnncbc't  RKlmU  it  la  Viriiu  liv,  HI,  ch.  1—6.  ind  hi>  EMritivxt  iw  la 


I 


76  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkel^.  [cH. 

exist,  are  the  only  proofis  of  its  actual  existence  which  Male- 
branche  gives,  unless  we  are  to  add  what  he  calls  our  general 
propensity  to  believe.  The  supernatural  revelation  of  the  exist- 
ence of  unperceived  Matter  Berkeley  denies ;  the  supposed  exisU 
ence  of  a  propensity  to  believe  in  a  Matter  of  which  our  senses 
cannot  inform  us  is,  he  ai^es,  an  absurd  assumption.  He  does 
not  undei  stand  how  any  one  can  be  inclined  to  believe  what  is 
absolutely  inconceivable — what  can  have  no  meaning:  for.  Matter 
that  is  out  of  all  relation  to  any  real  sensation  is  inconceivabki 
With  him,  therefore,  the  ideas  or  phenomena  of  sense  mn  die 
real  things :  real,  but  also  ideas  or  ideal ; — because  their  existeooe 
for  all  practical  purposes  is  dependent  on  a  mind  being  perdpait 
of  them.  They  are  the  human  archetypes  or  presentations,  of 
which  our  imaginings  are  the  representations.  '  They  exist/  he 
would  say,  ^  independently  of  my  individual  mind,  since  I  feel  that 
I  am  not  their  author  or  regulator.  It  is  out  of  my  power,  as  it  is 
out  of  the  power  of  any  finite  spirit,  to  change  at  pleasure  liiose 
real  ideas  or  sensible  things.  All  the  sense-experience  in  the 
universe  is  the  effect  of  a  constant  Divine  energy.  Sense-ideas 
exist  always  in  the  Divine  Will,  but  they  are  occasionally  mani- 
fested in  the  sense-experience  of  human  minds,  according  to  the 
divinely  established  natural  order.*  In  a  word,  Berkeley's  account 
of  our  perception  of  sensible  things  would  be  that  it  is  presentative, 
and  doubt  about  what  is  presented  is  of  course  impossible.  With 
Malebranche,  as  understood  by  Berkeley,  unperceived  Matter  serves 
no  purpose,  even  if  it  can  be  proved  j  the  reality  of  the  things  of 
sense  is  sufHciently  recognised  without  it :  the  Divine  Ideas  »* 
the  sensible  world,  as  far  as  we  can  have  anything  to  do  with  it 
Why  then,  Berkeley  might  ask,  should  we  assume  its  absolute  or 
neutral  existence  at  all  ? 

A  dispute  in  the  Oratoire,  in  the  autumn  of  1715,  might  thus,  on 
Berkele/s  side,  have  turned  on  the  real  and  (relatively  to  imagina- 
tion) archetypal  character  of  our  sense-ideas — on  whether  sense^ 
perception  is  presentative,  or  only  representative  of  real  things.  But 
Malebranche  might  have  pressed  him  on  another  side.  Berkeley's 
mimma  sensshslia  are  not  things,  for  ^things'  are  aggregates  ofmmimd 
sensihlRa ;  and  a  knowledge  of  sensible  things  is  a  knowledge  of  the 
mutual  relations  of  the  units  in  the  aggregation,  and  also  of  the 
mutual  relations  of  the  physical  substances  formed  by  these  aggre- 


France. 


77 


ates.  All  perception  of  sensible  things  contains,  in  germ  at  least, 
scientific  knowledge  of  sensible  things.  Perceptions  differ  from 
icnce  in  degree  and  not  in  kind.  In  their  very  first  beginnings 
icy  involve  scientific  principle  or  universality.  We  cannot  even 
p-ceivc  without  universalizing:  we  cannot  apprehend  sensible 
leoomcna  without  more  or  less  distinctly  comprehending  them 
the  unity  of  a  principle.  There  can  be  no  absolute  divorce 
rtween  the  phenomenal  and  the  rational.  Now,  what  is  the 
ivelope  of  netien  in  which  every,  even  the  obscurest,  act  of 
erccption  tends  to  include  its  sense-phenomena  ?  Is  this  envelope 
i  its  essence  Divine  ?  If  so,  may  it  not  be  said,  that  every  intcr- 
rlation  of  sensible  phenomena,  every  construction  of  a  sensible 
ing,  in  all  the  degrees  of  such  interpretation  or  construction, 
om  the  ordinary  employment  of  the  senses  to  the  highest  elabora- 
ins  of  science,  involves  a  notional  or  rational  element,  in  which 
:  participate  with  God ;  so  that  we  may  truly  be  said  to  be  sen- 
ibly  percipient  of  things  only  in  Divine  Ideas  or  Notions?  The 
Dperfection  of  Berkeley's  doctrine  of  abstraction  and  of  the 
ilation  between  thought  and  sensations,  and  his  imperfect  com- 
rehension  of  Malebranche,  might  have  appeared  here. 

The  rumour  of  this  conference  in  the  cell  of  the  Oratoire  is  the 
Illy  account  we  have  of  Berkeley's  doings  from  the  time  of  his 
rparture  from  England  with  young  Ashe,  probably  in  the  autumn 
F  1715,  till  we  have  his  own  journal  of  his  daily  proceedings  at 
^omc  in  January  1717,  now  for  the  first  time  published,  in  another 
Irt  of  this  volume. 

The  year  1716  is  a  blank  in  our  records  of  Berkeley's  life*'. 
wift  wrote  alxjut  him  to  Lord  Carteret,  some  years  after  this,  as 
Rving  travelled  over  *  most  parts  of  Europe ;'  and  it  has  been  said 
ut  he  once  visited  Cairo".  It  is  very  uniikely  that  he  was  ever 
ut  of  Europe,  though  it  is  possible  he  may  have  been  in  Switzer- 
and  Of  the  Empire — and  perhaps  in  1716. 

Curiously,  in  contrast  with  the  darkness  of  the  year  before,  1717 

I  Parody  p.  738.  rd,  184S.)  Thii  i>  noi  lupparled 
c  Prince  by  endencc,  and  ii  hiidly  consitlmt  with 
1716.  il  tbe  Ituown  drcumilincci.  or  wilb  Swift'i 
iri.  *«  miaiKnl  »fltri™di,  th«  Birlttley  wtt 
ibietit  from  Itelmd  iriTclling  for  '  ibove 


PcD>«l   Ptitt"i    «p«ch   10  ll 
WaleL    dcUvcied     in   April 
uid — '  Tht    Pmrml.    it    apiK 
sded    by    Ihe   Re*.    Dr. 


.  DuMio.'    ISwilf.  Wor*.. 


«  Pinkerts 


Liiiraty    Corn  fonJrnci. 


78  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley,  [cK. 

is  now  the  one  year  of  his  life  in  which  we  are  best  able  to  follow 
his  daily  movements,  and  with  the  light  thrown  upon  them  by  Us 
own  pen.  The  dim  vision  of  Berkeley  and  Malebranche  in  P^ds, 
in  September  or  October  1715,  is  followed  by  a  distinct  picture  of 
Berkeley  at  Rome,  examining  the  manuscripts  in  the  Library  of  tiie 
Vatican,  on  the  7th  of  January  171 7,  and  having  an  interview  with 
Cardinal  Gualtieri  on  the  following  morning,  along  with  young 
Ashe.  We  see  him,  with  his  great  ardour  of  observation,  among  the 
pictures,  statues,  and  architecture  of  new  and  old  Rome,  from  day  to 
day,  in  the  remainder  of  that  month,  surrounded  by  oompanioos  of 
whose  connection  with  him  we  can  tell  nothing — ^  Mr.  Domville,' 
'  Mr.  Hardy,'  '  Dr.  Chenion,'  and  others.  The  rough,  unpolished 
memoranda  of  his  journal,  sometimes  written  in  pencil,  peihap 
in  his  carriage,  have  the  freshness  which  more  elaJx>rate  writing 
wants,  and  the  matters  which  attracted  his  attention,  with  his 
remarks  upon  them,  illustrate  his  observant  habits  and  extensive 
reading,  and  the  singularity  of  his  genius.  The  publication  of  these 
notes  of  part  of  his  Italian  tour,  places  Berkeley  in  1717  before 
our  eyes;  and,  after  groping  for  traces  of  him  so  long  in  the  dim 
twilight,  one  feels  like  the  traveller  who  sees  in  the  disentombed 
remains  of  Herculancum,  with  almost  the  vividness  of  reality,  the 
departed  life  of  ancient  Italy. 

Berkeley  sent  a  letter  about  this  time  to  his  friend  Dr.  Arbuthnot. 
It  consists  of  observations  on  an  eruption  from  Vesuvius  which  he 
witnessed  when  he  was  at  Naples  in  April  17 17.  The  physical 
cause  of  volcanic  action  was,  as  we  shall  see,  a  subject  of  specu- 
lation with  him  afterwards.  The  letter  was  communicated  by 
Arbuthnot  to  the  Royal  Society,  and  is  to  be  found  in  the 
Fhtlosofhical  Transactions  for  October  1717.     It  is  as  follows : — 

Extract  of  a  letter  from  Mr.  Edw.  [George]  Berkeley,  giving  several  cu- 
rious Observations  and  Remarks  on  the  eruption  of  Fire  and  Smoke  from 
Mount  Vesuvio.     Communicated  by  John  Arbuthnot,  M.D.,  R.S.S.  :— 

Afril  17,  1717. 
With  much  difficulty  I  reached  the  top  of  Mount  Vesuvius,  in  which 
I  saw  a  vast  aperture  full  of  smoke,  which  hindered  the  seeing  its  depth 
and  figure.  I  heard  within  that  horrid  gulf  certain  odd  sounds,  which 
seemed  to  proceed  from  the  belly  of  the  mountain ;  a  sort  of  murmuring, 
sighing,  throbbing,  churning,  dashing  (as  it  were)  of  waves,  and  between 
whiles  a  noise,  like  that  of  thunder  or  cannon,  which  was  constantly 


in.]  liO^  7¥ 


wift  %  fJarttorfng  iBoe  tbitt  of  tBes  fidbi^  fiooi  Ae  lops 

tUDcry  aMOOfciiiii^  a  vny  nna^  iwitj  bmi  iBe  jnm  mm  Mmt 
Hveflkad  inth  led  and  tevcnl  ahades  of  ydbv.    After  an  kiMii^ 
Mafy  Ae  aaKike^  bdng  mofved  bf  Ae  mad,  gave  va  Ant  and 
paoapecls  of  the  gratt  hoOcm,  in  Ae  flat  boctoa  of  vUdb  I  ooaU 
naor  fanMoea  ahdkt  coot^nooi:  Aat  on  Ae  k^ 

nnmlrr,  flowed  viA  red  flaiTj  and  Arev  ^  red-hot 
nbideooa  noisey  wbkikg  as  A^ftflbackp  tftiiffnl  Aa 

Majr  8,  in  Ae  moraimi^  I  aaoended  to  Ae  tap  of  V< 
aaaoeiid  Ane^andfiinndadifaaiit  Aoeof  An^ga.    Tie 
iff  npiiRlit  gave  a  faD  protpcct  of  Ae  ctafeer,  arkich,  aa  I  ooaid  jn^ 
jialMMtandeinciiciiBdeRnoe^andanlinndred jaididec^  Aconicad 
awl  had  been  iwrmed  mce  mj  kat  Haft,  m  Ae  awddh  of  die  bodom: 
Ab  aaomt,  I  ooold  aeeyvas  made  of  Ae  atonea  dnom  ^  and  fdkn 
tnck  again  idId  Ae  enter.    In  dua  netr  fa9  irniMnfd  die  two  nKnada 
ar  famacea  iriready  mentioned:  diat  on  onr  left  vaa  in  die  wites  of  Ae 
tBaiincii  il  bad  fbnned  mmd  i^  and  laged  anc  mlendf  Aan  bcfcii^ 
Aitjaiiugnp,efeiydiieeorfigarnMmdw,iiiAadpeadHbeloif^^ 
anBBber  of  led-hol  atxmea,  someAnea  in  appcanmee  abote  a  Anaiind, 
and  at  least  three  Aonsand  feet  higher  than  my  bead  as  I  stood  iqxm  die 
bdnl^ :  but,  there  being  little  or  no  wind,  thef  (dl  bauck  perpendiciilarly 
into  die  crater,  increasing  the  conical  hilL    The  other  moudi  to  the  ri^ 
was  lower  in  the  side  of  the  same  new-formed  hiH     I  oonld  cfisoera  it 
to  be  filled  with  red-hot  liquid  matter,  like  that  in  the  fiimace  of  a  glass- 
house,  which  raged  and  wrought  as  the  waves  of  the  sea,  r^^^ng  a  short 
abrupt  noise  like  what  may  be  imagined  to  proceed  from  a  sea  of  quick- 
silver  dashing  among  uneven  locks.     This  stuff  would  sometimes  spew 
over  and  run  down  the  convex  side  of  the  conical  hill ;  and  24>pearing  at 
first  red-hot,  it  changed  colour,  and  hardened  as  it  cookd,  shewing  the 
first  rudiments  of  an  eruption,  or,  if  I  may  say  so,  an  eruption  in  minia- 
mre.     Had  the  wind  driven  in  our  faces,  we  had  been  in  no  small 
danger  of  stifling  by  the  sulphureous  smoke,  or  being  knocked  on  the 
head  by  lumps  of  molten  minerals,  which  we  saw  had  sometimes  fallen 
cm  the  brink  of  the  crater,  upon  those  shots  frx>m  the  gulf  at  the  bottooL 
But,  as  the  wind  was  favourable,  I  had  an  <^portunity  to  survey  this  odd 
scene  for  above  an  hour  and  a  half  together ;  during  which  it  was  very 
observable  that  all  the  volleys  of  smoke,  flame,  and  burning  stones,  came 
only  out  of  the  hole  to  our  left,  while  the  liquid  stufi"  in  the  other  mouth 
wrought  and  overflowed,  as  hath  been  already  described.     June  5th,  after 
an  horrid  ndse,  the  mountain  was  saen  at  Ns^es  to  spew  a  UtHk  onl  ot 


8o  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

the  crater.  The  same  continued  the  6th.  The  7th,  nothing  was  ob- 
served till  within  two  hours  of  night,  when  it  began  a  hideous  beUowing, 
which  continued  all  that  night  and  the  next  day  till  noon,  causing  tbe 
windows,  and,  as  some  affirm,  the  very  houses  in  Naples  to  shake. 
From  that  time  it  spewed  vast  quantities  of  molten  stuff  to  tbe  aoodi, 
which  streamed  down  the  mountain  like  a  great  pot  boiling  over.  This 
evening  I  returned  from  a  vojrage  through  Apulia,  &nd  was  surprised, 
passing  by  the  north  side  of  the  mountain,  to  see  a  great  quantilj  of 
ruddy  smoke  lie  along  a  huge  tract  of  sky  over  the  river  of  molten  staffs 
which  was  itself  out  of  sight.  The  9th,  Vesuvius  raged  less  violendy: 
that  night  we  saw  from  Naples  a  column  of  fire  shoot  between  whiles  out 
of  its  summit.  The  loth,  when  we  thought  all  would  have  been  over, 
the  mountain  grew  very  outrageous  again,  roaring  and  groaning  moit 
dreadfully.  You  cannot  form  a  juster  idea  of  this  noise  in  the  most 
violent  fits  of  it,  than  by  imagining  a  mixed  sound  made  up  of  the  ragiog 
of  a  tempest,  the  murmur  of  a  troubled  sea,  and  the  roaring  of  thunder 
and  artillery,  confused  all  together.  It  was  very  terrible  as  we  heard  it 
in  the  further  end  of  Naples,  at  the  distance  of  above  twelve  miles :  this 
moved  my  curiosity  to  approach  the  mountain.  Three  or  four  of  us  got 
into  a  boat,  and  were  set  ashore  at  Torre  del  Greco,  a  town  situate  at 
the  foot  of  Vesuvius  to  the  south-west,  whence  we  rode  four  or  five  miles 
before  we  came  to  the  burning  river,  which  was  about  midnight  Tbe 
roaring  of  the  volcano  grew  exceeding  loud  and  horrible  as  we  ap- 
proached. I  observed  a  mixture  of  colours  in  the  cloud  over  the  crater, 
green,  yellow,  red,  and  blue ;  there  was  likewise  a  ruddy  dismal  light  in 
the  air  over  that  tract  of  land  where  the  burning  river  flowed;  ashes 
continually  showered  on  us  all  the  way  from  the  sea-coast :  all  whidi 
circumstances,  set  off  and  augmented  by  the  horror  and  silence  of  the 
night,  made  a  scene  the  most  uncommon  and  astonishing  I  ever  saw, 
which  grew  still  more  extraordinary  as  we  came  nearer  the  stream. 
Imagine  a  vast  torrent  of  liquid  fire  rolling  from  the  top  down  the  side 
of  the  mountain,  and  with  irresistible  fury  bearing  down  and  consuming 
vines,  olives,  fig-trees,  houses ;  in  a  word,  every  thing  that  stood  in  its 
way.  This  mighty  flood  divided  into  different  channels,  according  to 
the  inequalities  of  the  mountain :  the  largest  stream  seemed  half  a  mile 
broad  at  least,  and  five  miles  long.  The  nature  and  consistence  of 
these  burning  torrents  hath  been  described  with  so  much  exactness  and 
truth  by  Borellus  in  his  Latin  treatise  of  Mount  iEtna,  that  I  need  say 
nothing  of  it.  I  walked  so  far  before  my  companions  up  the  mountain, 
along  the  side  of  the  river  of  fire,  that  I  was  obliged  to  retire  in  great 
haste,  the  sulphureous  stream  having  surprised  me,  and  almost  taken 


■•] 


Italy. 


8t  J 


vj  ray  breUb.     Durmg  our  return,  which  was  about  three  o'clock  i 
mortuDg,  we  constantly  heard  the  murmur  and  groaning  of  the    ' 
which    between  whiles  would   burst   out   into    louder  peals, 
ihrowin^  up  huge  spouts  of  fire  and  burning  stones,  which  falling  down 
Bfua.  resembled  the  stars  in  our  rockets.     Sometimes  I  observed  two, 
tt  others  three,  distinct  columns  of  tlaines ;  and  sometimes  one  vast  one 
seemed  to  fill  the  whole  crater.     These  burning  columns  and  the 
fciy  siorics  seemed  to  be  shot  looo  feet  perpendicular  above  the  siunmit 
of  the  volcano.     The  iiih,  at  night,  I  observed  it,  from  a  lerrass  in 
Kaptes,  to  throw  up  incessantly  a  vast  body  of  fire,  and  great  stones 
10  a  surprising  height.     The  i  ith.  in  the  moroing,  it  darkened  the  sun 
with  ashes  and  smoke,  causing  a  son  of  eclipse.     Horrid  bellowings, 
this  and  the  foregoing  day,  were  heard  at  Naples,  whither  part  of  the 
ubes  abo  reached.     At  night  I  obseT\ed  it  throwing  up  Same,  as  on  the 
llth.     On  (be  13th,  the  wind  changing,  we  saw  a  pillar  of  black  smoke 
ihol  upright  to  a  prodigious  height.     At  night  1  observed  the  mount  cast 
Dp  fire  as  before,  though  not  so  distinctly,  because  of  the  smoke.     The 
r^th,  a  lluck  black  cloud  hid  the  mountain  from  Naples.     The  15th,  in 
Ifae  tDoraing,  the  court  and  walls  of  our  bouse  in  Naples  were  covered 
«ilh  ashes.     The  t6th,  the  smoke  was  driven  by  a  westerly  wind  from 
the  town  10  the  opposite  side  of  the  mountain.     The  i  7th,  the  smoke 
appeared  much  diminished,  fat  and  greasy.     The  i8th,  the  whole  ap- 
pearance ended;    the  mountain  remaining  perfectly  quiet  without  any 
ntible   smoke   or  flame.      A    gendeman    of  my  acquaintance,  whose 
vtniiow  looked  towards  Vesuvius,  assured  me  that  he  observed  several 
as  it  were  of  lightning,  issue  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  volcano. 
It  b  not  worth  while  to  trouble  you  with  the  conjectures  1  have  formed 
tOtK«ming  the  cause  of  these  phsenomena,  from  what  I  observed  in  the 
tana  ABuanch,  the  Sol/alara,  Sc.  as  well  as  in  Mount  Vesuvius.     One 
ibn^  I  may  venture  to  say,  that  I  saw  the  fluid  matter  rise  out  of  the 
tre  of  the  bottom  of  the  crater,  out  of  the  very  middle  of  the  raoun- 
1,  conuar}-  10  what  Borellus  imagines;  whose  method  of  explaining 
eruption  of  a  volcano  by  an  indexed  syphon  and  the  rules  of  hydro- 
ics,  i»  likewise  inconsistent  with  the  torrent's  flowing  down  from  the 
f  vertei  of  the  mountain.     1  have  not  seen  the  crater  since  the 
cnipUon,  but  design  to  visit  it  again  before  I  leave  Naples.     I  doubt 
Ibcre  b  nothing  in  this  worth  shewing  the  Society :  as  to  that,  you  will 
nmr  discretion. 

E.  (it  should  be  G.)  BERKELEY.     ' 


Berkeley  was  at  Naples  in  April. 

VOL.  IV.  G 


For  May  and  June,  we  have 


82  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

the  notes  of  his  excursions  in  the  south  of  Italy,  now  published  in 
his  Journal.  In  the  progress  of  his  tour,  his  curiosity  led  him  into 
several  unfrequented  places  in  Apulia  and  Calabria. 

The  tarantula  dance^  and  the  singular  phenomena  of  tarantism, 
here  engaged  his  attention.  The  tarantula  is  a  large  spider,  found 
near  Taranto,  and  in  other  parts  of  Italy,  especially  in  Apulia  and 
Calabria.  Its  bite,  followed  sometimes  by  fiightiul  pathological 
symptoms,  was  said  to  be  cured  by  music,  which  moved  the  patient 
to  dance,  often  for  hours.  It  has  been  said  that  some  persons  not 
cured  by  music,  have  danced  till  they  died.  This  mania  is  supposed 
to  originate  in  an  animal  poison,  which  produces  an  epidemic 
nervous  disease  that  affects  the  imagination.  Besides  sympathy 
with  music,  a  passion  for  red  and  green  colours,  and  an  aversion 
for  blue  and  black,  are  among  the  symptoms  of  tarantism. 

This  was  a  subject  which,  as  might  be  expected,  he  was  fond 
of  investigating  \  and  it  is  often  referred  to  in  his  journals^  which 
contain  some  curious  evidence  in  confirmation  of  the  alleged  disease 
and  its  cure  *^^. 

We  have  some  notes  of  his  journal  in  September  1717.  In  October 
he  was  again  at  Naples,  where  he  wrote  the  following  interesting 
letter  to  Pope:  — 

Naples,  OcL  22,  N,  S,  1717. 

I  HAVE  long  had  it  in  my  thoughts  to  trouble  you  with  a  letter,  bat 
was  discouraged  for  want  of  something  that  1  could  think  worth  sending 
fifteen  hundred  miles.  Italy  is  such  an  exhausted  subject  that,  I  dare 
say,  you  'd  easily  forgive  my  saying  nothing  of  it ;  and  the  imagination 
of  a  poet  is  a  thing  so  nice  and  delicate  that  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  find 
out  images  capable  of  giving  pleasure  to  one  of  the  few,  who  (in  any 
age)  have  come  up  to  that  character.  I  am  nevertheless  lately  returqed 
from  an  island  where  I  passed  three  or  four  months ;  which,  were  it  set 
out  in  its  true  colours,  might,  methinks,  amuse  you  agreeably  enough  for 
a  minute  or  two. 

The  island  Inarime  is  an  epitome  of  the  whole  earth,  containing 
within  the  compass  of  eighteen  miles,  a  wonderful  variety  of  hills, 
vales,  ragged  rocks,  fruitful  plains,  and  barren  mountains,  all  thrown 
together  in  a  most  romantic  confusion.      The  air  is,  in  the  hottest 

^  See  various  entries  in  May  and  June  The  discharge  of  the  inflammatory  fluid. 
1717.  He  sent  Dr.  Friend  an  account  of  produced  by  dancing,  was  Or.  Mead's  ex- 
the  nervous  dance  caused  by  the  tarantula.       planation  of  the  physical  cause  of  the  cure. 


III.]  Italy.  831 

»nson,  constantly  refreshed  by  cool  breezes  Ijora  the  sea.  The  vales 
produce  excellem  wheal  and  Indian  com,  but  are  mostly  covered  with 
i:.ic>-a[ils  iniennixed  with  fruit-ttees.  Besides  the  common  kinds,  as 
cbemcs,  apricots,  peaches,  Ac,  lliey  produce  oranges,  limea,  almonds, 
pocDesruntes,  figs,  water-melons,  and  many  other  fruits  unknown  to  our 
diiiiates.  which  lie  every  where  open  to  the  passenger.  Tlie  hills  are  the 
greater  |>art  covered  to  tlie  top  with  vines,  some  wilh  chesnut  groves, 
■ad  others  with  thickets  of  myrtle  and  lentiscus.  The  fields  in  the 
Bonfacra  side  arc  divided  by  hedgerows  of  myrtle.  Several  fountains 
■od  rivulets  add  to  the  beauty  of  this  landscape,  which  is  likewise  set 
off  by  the  variety  of  some  bairen  spots  and  naked  rocks.  But  that 
dach  crowns  the  scene,  is  a  large  mountain  rising  out  of  the  middle 
of  the  island,  (once  a  terrible  volcano,  by  the  ancients  called  Mons 
Epomens).  Its  lower  parts  are  adorned  with  vines  and  other  fruits ;  the 
middle  affords  pasture  to  flocks  of  goats  and  sheep;  and  the  top  is 
a  sandy  pointed  rock,  from  which  you  have  the  Gnesi  prospect  in  the 
«Dt)d,  5Un'e>ing  at  one  view,  besides  several  pleasant  islands  lying  at 
loor  feet,  a  tract  of  Italy  about  three  hunilred  miles  in  length,  from  the 
pramoniory  of  Antium  to  the  Cape  of  Paliiiurus :  the  greater  part  of 
viiicfa  lialh  been  sung  by  Homer  and  Virgil,  as  making  a  considerable 
ptn  of  the  travels  and  adventures  of  their  two  heroes.  The  islands  Caprea, 
Procbyta.  and  Parlhcnope,  together  with  Cajeta,  Cum»,  Monte  Miseno, 
the  habflalions  of  Circe,  the  S}7%ns,  and  the  Lxsirigonea,  the  bay  of 
Naples,  the  promontary  of  Minerva,  and  ihc  whole  Camjagnia  felice, 
nake  but  a  pan  of  this  noble  landscape;  which  would  demand  an 
imagination  as  warm  and  numbers  as  flowing  as  your  own,  to  describe 
it.  The  inhabitants  of  this  delicious  isle,  as  they  are  without  riches  and 
hooours,  so  are  they  without  the  vices  and  follies  that  attend  ihem ;  and 
were  they  but  as  much  strangers  to  revenge  as  they  are  to  avarice  and 
smbition,  they  might  in  (act  answer  tbe  poetical  notions  of  the  golden 
age.  Bot  they  have  got,  as  an  alloy  to  their  happiness,  an  ill  habit  of 
■nudcring  ooe  another  on  slight  offences  We  had  an  instance  of  this 
Ihe  second  night  after  our  arrival,  a  youth  of  eighteen  being  shot  dead 
by  our  door :  and  yet  by  the  sole  secret  of  minding  our  own  business, 
W  round  a  means  of  living  securely  among  those  dangerous  people. 

Would  you  know  how  wc  pass  the  time  at  Naples  ?  Our  chief  enter- 
tainment is  the  devotion  of  our  neighbours.  Besides  the  gaiety  of  their 
dwrcbes  (where  folks  go  to  see  what  they  call  una  belh  Devolione,  i.  e. 
•  sort  of  rdigious  opera),  they  make  fireworks  almost  every  week  om  of 
the  streets  are  often  hung  with  arras  out  of  devotion;  and 
fal  MiB-  mote  fltnnge)  the  ladies  invite  gentlemen  to  their  houses, 

Q_i 


4 


84  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

and  treat  them  with  music  and  sweetmeats,  out  of  devotion :  in  a  word, 
were  it  not  for  this  devotion  of  its  inhabitants,  Naples  would  have  little 
else  to  recommend  it  beside  the  air  and  situation. 

Learning  is  in  no  very  thriving  state  here,  as  indeed  nowhere  else  in 
Italy ;  however,  among  many  pretenders,  some  men  of  taste  are  to  be 
met  with.  A  friend  of  mine  told  me  not  long  since  that,  being  to  visit 
Salvini**  at  Florence,  he  found  him  reading  your  Homer:  he  liked  the 
notes  extremely,  and  could  find  no  other  fault  with  the  version,  but  that 
he  thought  it  approached  too  near  a  paraphrase ;  which  shews  him  not  to 
be  sufficiently  acquainted  with  our  language.  I  wish  you  health  to  go 
on  with  that  noble  work ;  and  when  you  have  that,  I  need  not  wish  yoo 
success.  You  will  do  me  the  justice  to  believe,  that  whatever  relates  to 
your  welfare  is  sincerely  wished  by  your,  &c. 

From  an  allusion  elsewhere***,  he  seems  to  have  visited  the 
Grotto  del  Cane,  near  Naples.  References  to  his  Italian  experi- 
ence and  friends,  and  to  the  ancient  and  modem  literature  of  Italy, 
may  be  found  in  various  places  in  his  writings. 

In  August  1717  we  have  a  sign  of  an  intention  to  prolong  the 
tour,  in  a  renewal  of  his  leave  from  Trinity  College,  *to  travel 
and  remain  abroad.*  The  Queen's  letter  was  on  this  occasion 
signed  by  Joseph  Addison,  then  Secretary  of  State..  In  the  pre- 
ceding month  he  had  been  elected  a  Senior  Fellow  in  his  absence, 
when  Dr.  Baldwin,  the  Vice-Provost,  was  made  Provost. 

We  have  some  of  the  notes  of  his  movements  in  Italy  in  1718. 
He  appears  to  have  been  also  in  Sicily  in  that  year,  when  it  is  said 
that  he  travelled  over  the  island  on  foot  2*.  Sicily  attracted  his 
attention  very  much.  He  collected  materials  for  a  natural  history 
of  the  island,  which,  with  his  journal  there,  were  unfortunately  lost 
in  the  passage  back  to  Naples.  The  rare  union  of  subtle  and 
original  speculation,  with  extraordinary  inquisitiveness  about  the 
minute  phenomena  of  nature  and  industrial  life,  so  conspicuous  in 
Berkeley,  deepen  our  regret  for  the  loss  of  documents  which  might 
have  further  illustrated  his  disposition,  though  they  probably  OOQ- 


*  Cf.  note  16,  p.  71.     Salvini  was  fbad  having  felt  an  earthquake  at  Mcsfloa,  *io 

of  English  literature,  and  translated  Addison's  1718.'  The  pedestrian  journey  is  meottooed 

C€Uo^  among  other  works.  by  Dr.  Blackwell  in  his  Mtmwn  of  At  Court 

^  Cf.  ^iWi,  sect.  144.  of  Augustus^  vol.  II.  pp.  377 — 278.  See  also 

"  Id    a    letter,  in    1745,   he    mentions  Warton  on  Popt,  vol.  11.  p.  a6i. 


Ul]  Fraiue. 

taincd  few  scientific  Tacts  that  are  not  now  common  -place,  or  novel  1 
inferences  that  modern  science  would  be  ready  to  accept. 

BUbop  Ashe,  the  father  of  his  pupil,  died  on  the  27th  of  February  ] 
IJ18,  but  it  does  not  appear  that  this  affected  Berkeley's  move- 
ments'*. 

Berkeley  is  invisible  during  1719.  The  Register  of  Trinity 
College,  recofds  that  on  the  5th  of  June  1719,  a  renewed  leave 
of  absence  for  two  years  was  granted  to  him.  He  was,  we  may 
assume,  still  in  Italy.  Before  he  left  it,  he  met  for  the  first  time 
Martin  Benson,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Gloucester,  who  was  for 
neatly  thirty  years  one  of  his  most  loved  friends.  Benson  was 
llien  travelling  in  Italy,  as  Lord  Pomfret's  chaplain. 

Berkeley  returned  through  France  on  his  way  back  to  England, 
apparently  in  1720. 

One  incident  in  the  homeward  journey  shows  that  he  con- 
tinued to  unfold  the  philosf^phy  which  absorbed  his  thoughts 
some  ten  years  before,  at  Trinity  College,  and  at  the  commence- 
ment of  his  wanderings  in  France  and  Italy.  He  set  out  on  his 
travels  immediately  after  he  had  published  the  Three  Dialogues 
the  nature  of  the  material  world.  He  was  about  to  end  them 
when  he  published  a  Latin  work,  Ot  Motu,  which  is  actually  an 
e>say  on  Pbwcr  and  Causation.  According  to  the  earlier  treatise, 
ideas  of  sense,  in  the  first  place,  and  at  last  Divine  Ideas,  are  the 
mrchctypes  of  our  knowledge  J  according  to  the  later.  Divine  and 
other  voluntary  activity  is  the  one  efficient  cause  of  motion  in  the 
world  of  the  senses. 

The  De  Motu  is  an  application  to  sensible  changes  and  causation 
of  one  phase  of  Berkeley's  implied  Principle ;  in  the  same  way  as 
the  Dialegurs  are  an  application  of  tiie  same  Principle,  in  another 
phase,  to  sensible  qualities.  The  former  was  intended  for  the 
scientifically  initiated,  and  was  written  in  Latin.  The  Dialoguet 
were  for  the  multitude,  and  were  written  in  graceftil  English. 
The  philosophy  of  physical  science  was  considered  in  the  De 
I,  which  also  recommended  a  distribution  of  the  sciences. 
It  shows  more  learned  research  than  his  earlier  ' 

■  Young  Ajhc,  Berkeley  I  pupil,  died  in  lyil.i 


I 


86  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

This  Latin  disquisition  was  prepared  at  Lyons — one  of  Berke- 
ley's resting-places,  we  may  conjecture,  on  his  way  home.  The 
subject  had  been  proposed  in  1720  by  the  Royal  Academy  of 
Sciences  at  Paris.  The  essay  may  have  been  presented  when  he 
arrived  there. 

Unfortunately,  in  this  case,  as  in  that  of  the  interview  with 
Malebranche,  documentary  evidence  which  might  supply  inter- 
esting details  is  wanting.  I  am  indebted  to  M.  Alfred  Maury, 
and  to  the  Abbe  Rabbe,  for  researches  made  at  my  request  among 
the  manuscript  remains  of  that  learned  Society,  which  even  in 
Berkeley's  time  could  boast  of  some  of  the  most  eminent  names 
in  Europe.  Many  of  the  papers,  especially  the  Memoirs,  disap- 
peared, it  seems,  at  the  Revolution.  The  record  that  remains 
of  the  proceedings  about  the  year  1720  is  very  meagre.  The 
collection  of  pieces  which  carried  oflF  the  prizes  of  the  Academy 
commences,  however,  in  that  year.  The  prize  for  1720  was  con- 
ferred on  M.  Crousaz  (afterwards  author  of  the  well-known  work 
on  Logic,  and  Professor  of  Philosophy  at  Lausanne),  for  the  Discmtn 
ntr  la  Naturey  le  Frincipe  et  la  Cammumcation  du  Mauvement  ^\  The 
second  prize  was  awarded  to  M.  Massy.  Berkeley's  name  is  not 
mentioned.  His  failure  in  this  competition  (if  indeed  his  disser- 
tation was  actually  presented  for  competition)  need  not  surprise  us, 
when  we  consider  the  characteristic  boldness  with  which,  in  his 
De  Matu^  he  subverts  received  notions  of  causation,  and  makes 
war  on  ontological  theories  then  in  great  strength  in  France.  To 
represent  mechanics  as  a  science  of  divinely  constituted  signs, 
not  of  proper  causes — to  maintain  that  God  is  the  Mover  in  the 
sensible  universe — and  to  resolve  space  (so  far  as  it  has  any 
positive  existence)  into  relations  of  our  concrete  sensations — thus 
denying  that  it  has  necessary  uncreated  existence — was  too  foreign 
to  the  then  established  conceptions  of  a  conclave  of  mathema- 
ticians and  natural  philosophers  to  find  favour  in  their  eyes.  The 
vigorous,  but  rather  commonplace,  good  sense  of  Crousaz,  un- 
distinguished by  original  speculative  ability,  was  more  adapted  to 
the  circumstances. 

After  an  absence   of  about  five  years,  Berkeley  returned  to 
England.     The  precise  date  does  not  appear,  but  it  may  have 

"  Crousaz  (1663 — '749)  ^^^  nearly  sixty  3Fears-old  when  this  Discourse  was  written. 


iil]  England.  87! 

been  towards  the  end  of  1730.  It  is  not  likely  that  he  had  1 
then  any  intention  of  soon  returning  to  Dublin,  as  his  leave  of  ] 
absence  was  renewed,  for  the  fourth  time,  on  the  34th  of  June 


He  found  London  and  all  England  in  the  agitation  and  misery 
consequent  upon  the  failure  of  the  South  Sea  Scheme.  This  occa- 
sioned one  of  his  most  characteristic  productions  as  an  author. 
He  now  addressed  himself  for  the  first  time  publicly  to  questions  of 
social  economy.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  deep  impression  which 
the  English  catastrophe  of  1720  made  upon  him  was  connected 
with  the  project  of  social  idealism  which,  as  we  shall  see,  filled 
and  determined  his  life  in  its  middle  period. 

The  conduct  and  failure  of  this  South  Sea  Scheme  was  one  of 
levetaJ  symptoms  of  a  dangerous  declension  in  the  tone  of  public 
morals  in  England.  On  credible  report,  it  seems  that  the  state  of 
society,  at  least  in  London,  soon  after  the  accession  of  the  House 
of  Hanover,  was  hardly  less  corrupt  than  in  the  period  which 
followed  the  Restoration,  while  it  wanted  the  literary  and  scien- 
tist brilliancy  which  shed  lustre  on  the  reign  of  Charles  II. 
Political  corruption  and  contempt  of  religion  were  common  among 
the  wealthy  and  fashionable.  The  South  Sea  proposals  raised  ex- 
travagant expectations  of  a  secular  millennium.  The  'growth  of 
atheism,  pro^neness,  and  immorality,'  w.-ts  the  formula  among 
Bishops  and  other  ecclesiastics ;  and  the  language  was  adopted 
by  leading  members  in  both  Houses  of  Parliament. 

This  great  commercial  enterprise  brought  latent  evils  to  a  visible 
crisis,  and  disease  in  the  body  politic  could  not  be  wncealed. 
It  revealed  a  morbid  eagerness  to  share  in  the  possible  pro- 
fits of  hazardous  speculation,  intense  and  wide-spread  to  an 
extent  that  England  had  never  before  seen.  Trusting  to  the 
jKcd  tor  gain,  and  pushing  credit  to  its  utmost  extent,  the  Com- 
pany, in  the  spring  of  1720,  undertook  the  responsibility  of  the 
National  Debt,  at  that  time  amounting  to  above  thirty  millions 
•ling.  The  proposal  was  accepted  by  both  Houses  of  ParlJa- 
Blent,  by  large  majorities,  in  the  month  of  April,  against  the 
cmonstrances  of  Walpole.  The  Company's  stock  rose  to  330 
the  coujse  of  that  month.  In  May  it  reached  550,  and  in 
Innc  890.      It  attained  its  maximum  of  1000  in  the  beginning 


88  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

of  August,  when  the  Qiainnan  and  principal  Directors  sold  out 
An  unprecedented  panic  ftdlowed.  The  shares  fiell  rapidly.  A 
collapse  of  social  credit  was  imminent.  Parliament  was  hastily 
summoned  in  Xo^^ember.  A  financial  adjustment  was  at  last 
made,  and  credit  slowly  returned  with  the  new  year. 

Berkeley  found  himself  in  this  national  turmoil.  He  was 
shocked  by  the  tone  of  social  morality,  which  so  appallingly  greeted 
him  on  his  return.  Probably  his  active  imagination  and  en- 
thusiastic temperament  exaggerated  the  symptoms.  We  know 
more  about  these  things  now :  commercial  speculation  was  then 
a  novelty  in  the  nation.  His  ardent  thoughts  found  vent  in 
the  'Essay  tor^mrds  freveutmg  the  Bmm  rf  Gremt  BritmWy  which  was 
pub  ished  in  London  in  1721  ^. 

The  EssMy  is  the  lamentation  of  an  ardent  social  idealist  over  the 
effete  civilisation  of  England  and  the  Old  World.  We  are  undone^ 
is  the  spirit  of  his  language,  and  lost  to  all  sense  of  our  true 
interest.  If  we  are  to  be  saved  at  all,  it  must  be  by  the  persons 
who  compose  society  becoming  individually  industrious,  frugal, 
public  spirited,  and  religious.  This,  and  not  any  royal  road,  is 
the  way  to  safety,  if  there  is  any  way  at  all.  Sumptuary  laws^  he 
thought,  might  do  something.  Public  amusements  might  be  regu- 
lated. Masquerades  might  be  prohibited.  The  drama,  which  was 
a  school  of  morals  and  good  sense  to  the  ancient  world,  and  to 
England  in  a  former  generation,  might  perhaps  be  reformed.  The 
fine  arts  might  be  made,  as  in  other  countries,  to  inspire  the  com- 
munity with  great  thoughts  and  generous  feelings.  But  till  selfish- 
ness and  sensuality  were  superseded  in  individuals  by  public  spirit 
and  religious  love  and  reverence,  mere  legislation  appeared  to  him 
hopeless.  In  the  South  Sea  affair  he  saw,  not  the  root  of  the  evil, 
but  merely  one  of  many  external  symptoms,  resulting  from  those 
tendencies  to  social  dissolution,  which  for  a  generation  had  been 
sapping  the  strength  of  society  in  Western  Europe,  and  espe- 
cially in  these  islands. 

Though  this  tract  is  but  a  fragment  in  Berkeley's  miscellaneous 
writings,  it  should  have  an  important  place  in  a  study  of  the 


**  Cf.  Swift's  venes   on  the  South  Sea  and  his  health,  and  retired  to  liampstead  in 

Projtet,    Several  of  Berkeley's  set  were  in-  1721,  where  he  was  restored  by  the  care  of 

volred   in   South  Sea  speculation ;   among  Arbuthnot. 
others,  Oay  the  poet,  who  lost  his  fortune 


gwvth  of  Us  cfaatacter  and  social  conceptknis.  <Let  us  be 
JnhBtiiuya^  friigri>  and  religk)ii%  if  we  are  to  be  saved  at  all,'  is 
Us  advicesii  ^  There  is  little  bope  of  our  becoming  any  c^  these/ 
if  lis  predictioiw  .  It  is  tiie  CasBandra  wail  of  a  sonowfiil  prophet, 
pqaiing  to  sbake  the  dust  ffom  his  feet,  and  to  transfer  his  eye 
of  hope  to  otber  r^gjiMis,  and  to  a  kss  deliberately  corrupted 


The  summer  of  1791  found  Berkeley  still  in  England.  His 
Cofds  had  added  to  his  social  charms,  and  he  found  ready  admis- 
Bon  to  tiie  best  society  in  ondoo.  The  London  c^  1721  was  of 
oooise  dianged  fixm  the  London  of  1715.  Addison  had  passed 
svaqr  in  1719,  and  Mattliew  Prior  in  1711.  Swift  was  in  Dublin, 
and  Stede  was  broken  in  health  and  fortune.  But  Fbpe  was  at 
rwickmham,  Arbuthnot  was  in  town,  and  Atterbury  was  at  his 
deaneiy  in  Westminster  <»*  among  the  elms  at  Bromley.  Clarke,  as 
fisnialy,  was  pieaddng  sermons  in  the  parish  diurch  of  St  James's, 
md  Shnlock  was  Master  of  the  Temple.  One  likes  to  linger 
bGkiflg  at  them  alL 

The  f<dlowing  letter  fit)m  Pope  to  Berkeley^  is  without  a 
sufficient  date.  Perhaps  it  belongs  to  the  spring  of  172 1.  At 
any  rate,  it  illustrates  his  friendly  relations  with  the  poet,  and 
with  the  *  turbulent'  Atterbury,  who  had  ^exhausted  hyperbole* 
in  his  praise. 

Sunday* 
Dear  Sir, 

Mt  Lord  Bishop**  was  very  much  concerned  at  missing  you  yesterday ; 
be  desired  me  to  engs^e  you  and  myself  to  dine  with  him  this  day,  but 
I  was  unluckily  pre-engaged.  And  (upon  my  telling  him  I  should  carry 
yoa  out  of  town  to-morrow,  and  hoped  to  keep  you  till  the  end  of  the 
week)  he  has  desired  that  we  will  not  fail  to  dine  with  him  next  Sunday, 
when  he  will  have  no  other  company. 

I  write  this  to  intreat  that  you  will  provide  yourself  of  linen  and  other 
necessaries  sufficient  for  the  week ;  for,  as  I  take  you  to  be  almost  the 
>nly  friend  I  have  that  is  above  the  litde  vanities  of  the  town,  I  expect 

•  See  Utitn,  Ac.,  imdtu^  tbe  Corr^-  *  Atterbury.  who  was  banished  in  1722 ; 

ptmdmcs  ^  Jobm  Hmg^  Etj.,  vol.  II.       but  much  of  his  correspoodence  with  Pop* 
t,  I.  was  about  this  time.    Of.  p.  59. 


90  Life  afid  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

you  may  be  able  to  renounce  it  for  one  week,  and  to  make  trial  how  yon 
like  my  Tusculum,  because  I  assure  you  it  is  no  less  yours,  and  hope 
you  will  use  it  as  your  own  country  villa  in  the  ensuing  season* 

I  am,  faithfully  yours, 

A.  POPE. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Berkeley  became  ^miliar  with 
persons  whose  intimacy  and  correspondence  in  later  years  were 
among  the  consolations  of  his  advancing  life.  His  friendship  widi 
Martin  Benson,  who  was  afterwards  Bishop  of  Gloucester,  and 
with  Seeker,  who  was  afterwards  successively  Bishop  of  Bristol  and 
Bishop  of  Oxford,  and  who  ended  a  sagacious  old  age  on  the  ardii- 
episcopal  throne  at  Lambeth,  probably  dates  from  1721.  Rundle, 
afterwards  bishop  of  Derry,  was  an  intimate  of  all  the  three. 
They  are  conjoined  in  Pope^s  well-known  lines^^ — 

*  Even  in  a  Bishop  I  can  spy  desert ; 
Seeker  is  decent,  Rnndle  has  a  heart: 
Manners  with  candour  are  to  Benson  giren. 
To  Berkeley  every  virtue  under  heaven.' 

Benson,  as  already  mentioned,  he  met  in  Italy.  Benson  and 
Seeker  became  intimate  in  Paris  in  1720,  and  both  returned 
to  England  early  in  the  following  year.  Seeker  was  ordained 
in  1722,  and  he  mentions  3®  that  a  short  time  before  his  ordi- 
nation he  became  acquainted  with  ^  Dr.  Clarke  of  St.  James's^ 
and  with  Berkeley  afterwards  Bishop  of  Cloyne.*  Seeker  and 
Butler  were  trained  together  in  the  Dissenting  Academy  at 
Tewkesbury,  where  Butler  wrote  the  letters  to  Clarke  which 
Seeker  carried  to  the  post-oflSce  at  Gloucester.  Butler,  too,  was  now 
in  London,  delivering,  at  the  Rolls  Chapel  in  Chancery  Lane,  \ 
those  profound  moral  discourses,  so  full  of  penetrating  practical 
wisdom,  which  have  formed  an  era  in  the  history  of  ethical  specu* 
lation  in  England,  and  have  been  studied  by  successive  genera- 
tions of  young  moral  philosophers.  Berkeley  was  thus  again 
brought  into  connection  with  Clarke,  and  met  with  the  grave 
and  weighty  moral  preacher  at  the  Rolls — the  two  most  notable 
English  philosophical  thinkers  of  the  time. 

^  EpilogM  to  the  Satires,  Dial.  II.  70      permission  to  examine  which  I  am  indebted 
(published  in  1 738).  to  the  kindness  of  the  Archbishop  of  Can* 

^  In  his  MSS.  preserved  at  Lambeth,  for      terbury. 


■l]  England.  91 

! 

'  II  maj  bave  been  daring  tiiis  stay  in  England  chat  he  met 

PembfoiDe^  to  wbom,  more  than  ten  years  before, 

bad  dedicated  bis  IhimdfUs  rf  Hmmm  Km^hdp.    The  Earl 

ttie  firieiKl  of  Swift;  and  in  the  latter  part  of  his  Ufe  he 

die  fiiend  of  Berkeley,  who  was  a  welcome  idsitor  at  his 

seat  at  Wifton.    It  was  at  this  time,  too,  that  he  was 

ff  ¥ofc  to  Boyle^  Eaii  of  Burlington  and  Cotkj  cele- 

e  aidutectaral  nobkman,  to  whose  professional  taste 

Bflj  good  bcdldings  in  London  and  in  the  country  are  due — 

deigned  Burlington  House  in  Piccadilly,  and  who  repaired 

JnTs  in  Coirent  Garden,  the  design  c^  Inigo  Jones — 

«Wko  flmi  Kki  Biteni,  m  friw  MIdt  Klae  Boyltf ' 


The  name  of  Bnyle  is  illustrious  in  the  history  of  human  pro- 
tfae  ardiitectural  Earl  of  Burlington  inherited  the  ancestral 
of  science  and  of  art.  Berkeley's  kindred  taste  and  skilly 
in  Italy,  was  a  bond  between  them.  According  to 
Tarton^,  be  gained  the  patronage  and  fiiendship  of  this  nobks 
itai  ^not  only  by  his  true  politeness  and  the  peculiar  darms  of 
bs  conversation,  which  was  exquisite,  but  by  his  profound  and 
)erfect  skill  in  architecture ;  an  art  which  he  had  very  particularly 
tudied  in  Italy,  when  he  went  abroad  with  Mr.  Ashe,  son  of  the 
IvAMOfp  of  Qog^er,  and  where,  with  an  insatiable  and  philosophic 
tttention,  he  surveyed  every  object  of  interest/ 

By  the  Earl  of  Burlington,  Berkeley  was  recommended  to 
3iarles^  second  Duke  of  Grafton.  In  August  lyjji,  the  Duke 
ras  appointed  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland.  Berkeley  went  in  his 
uite  as  one  of  his  chaplains,  and  returned  once  more  to  the  Irish 
apital. 


*  Thonus,  eighth  Earl  of  Pembroke,  the      Ireland.     He  succeeded  his  brother  Philip  in 
icnd  of  Locke,  who  dedicated  his  Buay  to       1683,  and  died  in  1 733. 
im.    He  beU  high  offices  in  England  and  *^sMiyo»Po/«,yol.II.p.46o;alsop.335. 


! 


CHAPTER   IV. 


IRELAND  AND  ENGLAND. 
ACADEMICO-PHILOSOPHICAL  ENTHUSIASM   ABOUT   AMERICA.^ 


I 72 I — 1728. 

Berkeley  was  now  in  his  thirty-seventh  year.  Without 
ferment  in  the  Church,  and  with  leave  of  absence  from 
College,  he  had  been  a  wanderer  out  of  Ireland  for  more 
eight  years.  He  now  returned  for  a  time  to  the  scenes  of 
youth,  soon  to  leave  them  again.  A  new  ideal  was  about  ti 
kindle  and  sustain  an  enthusiasm  which  shaped  his  course  % 
several  following  years.  At  an  age  when  ordinary  men  tiy 
have  their  places  settled  in  the  routine  of  the  social  system^ 
find  him  a  knight-errant  of  academic  life  and  religious 
lisation  in  America,  ready  to  sacrifice  the  intellectual  refin< 
and  conventional  dignities  of  the  Old  World  in  which  he 
grown  into  manhood. 


i 


Berkeley's  return  to  Dublin  seems  to  have  been  sudden. 
the  24th  of  June  1 721,  his  leave  of  absence  from  College  as 
have  seen,  was  prolonged  for  two  years.    Yet  about  two  mont 
afterwards  we  find  him  in  Ireland,  which  there  is  no  evidence 
he  had  visited  since  he  left  it  in  the  spring  of  1713. 

Berkeley's  place  of  residence  in  1721,  and  the  two  foUowii 
years,  has  hitherto  been  doubtful  and  disputed.  In  the  GentUwuafA 
Magazane  for  December  1776,  it  is  denied  that  Berkeley  *cver| 
went  to  Ireland  as  Chaplain  to  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  or  any  other} 
Lord  Lieutenant.*  That  there  is  no  ground  for  the  denial 
proved  by  the  following  letter  1,  hitherto  unpublished,  and  nc 
printed  according  to  the  original : — 


^  For  this  valuable  letter  I  am  indebted 
to  Mr.  Malcomson,  of  Carlow,  who  now 
possesses  the  original  manuKfipt.  The 
heraldic  Berkeley  seal  is  used.    The  year 


is  not  given,  but,  from  internal 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  wu 
ten  in  I*j2i,    It  is  addressed,  *Fot 
Nelson,  Esq.,  at  Berkeley  House  in  St  J«bAl 


DubUm.  ^% 

From /  Cottri cflrekmd,  (kiober  6,  [1721]. 

inoijoa  lor  jour  kind  fetter,  Deue  Brother  Nd^n,  though  you 
pofltmaster  SA  not  agree  in  j*  date,  tfaer  being  ao  days  differ* 
This  badi  pnded  me  a  littfe  as  to  j«  time  of  your  housekeeping ; 
iiope  70a  keqie  joor  <rid  qoarters,  and  are  now  settled  at 
a  to  joor  content  I  have  bin  a  fortn^Itt  in  y«  Casde:  bat 
g  a  Htde  <fifference  in  y  hangings  of  mj  diamber,  and  its  being 
qxm  j«  first  stoiy,  I  find  Jack  Hafe  and  George  Berkeley  are 
Chaplain%  and  eqaaDy  considered.  We  both  rise  at  6  o'dodk, 
raitii^  wedc,  to  pray  widi  y«  iamify.  At  11  we  give  his  Grace 
Fhiyos,  and  at  9  after  8i^>er  die  bell  rings  againe.^  Besides 
%,  diere  k  anodier  CSiapbuney  who  not  living  in  j^  house,  we  are 
rise  for  him  and  suppt^r  his  tome  in  y«  morning.    I  have  y 

0  flit  at  y«  lowiN'  end  of  my  L^  tabfe  (^.  is  no  great  matter),  as 
op  always  widi  y^  Steward  when  I  am  not  in  waiting,  and  oA»t 
are.  Kit  a  good  Deanry  win  easOy  make  amends  for  y« 
jT  mj  qnaKty;  dumgh  I  could  wish  his  Majesty  had  tdd  me 

1  of  removing  Chnrch  Preferment  from  y«  Commissioners  before 
oat  of  Ei^iland.  But  as  it  is,  God's  will  be  done.  My  lA 
id  I  are  at  a  great  distance  here,  so  not  many  words  passe 

us.  He  made  me  once  a  very  low  cringe  at  St.  John's,  but  if 
stoope  now  to  do  me  a  reale  kindnesse  it  will  be  much  better. 
lu  have  a  short  account  of  my  affairs.  I  never  drunk  or  saw 
oebah  since  I  came  into  Ireland,  though  I  have  bin  at  many 
id  civilly  used  in  a  sober  way  without  impoting :  if  any  thing 
doth  happen  in  my  concerns,  I  will  send  you  word.  In  y« 
rhile,  I  am. 

Most  affectionately. 

Your  humble  Servant, 

GEORGE  BERKELEY, 
nd  love  to  your  wife  and  y«  rest  of  your  friends. 

same  writer  in  tYitJiGentleman^s  Magazine  asserts,  in 
ion  to  the  author  of  the  book  he  is  reviewing,  that  *  Berkeley 
x)k  the  degrees  of  Bachelor  and  IXxrtor  of  Divinity,  though 

e  Sduthfield,  London.'     It  may  be  FcMs,  and  of  the  Ufi  of  Bishop  Bull,  who 

I  that  Berkeley's  correspondent  was  married  Theophila,  widow  of  Sir  Kingsmill 

other  near  relative,  of  the  pioos  Lucy,  and  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Berkeley, 

boo,  author  of  the  Fnthah  tutd  and  who  died  in  1 715. 


94  i^if^  ond  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ca 

here  [i.  e.  in  the  anonymous  Life  of  Berkeley  which  appeared  in 
1776]  the  very  day  is  mentioned,  viz.  Nov.  14,  1721.  The  fad 
is,  he  was  elected  DJ).  by  his  College /irr  smltwm  in  1717,  duria| 
his  absence  in  Italy  V  Now,  the  Registry  of  Trinity  Collep 
informs  us  that  *on  November  14,  1721,  Mr.  Berkeley  had  tihe 
grace  of  the  House,  for  the  Degree  of  Badiekv  and  Doctor  of 
Divinity.* 

Other  academical  appointments  followed,  according  to  tbe 
academical  record.  On  the  20th  of  November  1721,*  Dr.  Berkekf 
was  nominated  Divinity  Lecturer ^  (on  Archbishop  King's  founda- 
tion) ;  and  on  the  same  day  he  was  appointed  University  Preadier* 
As  already  mentioned,  he  was  Junior  Greek  Lecturer  in  1712,  and 
now  the  record  bears  that  on  *  November  ai,  1721,  Dr.  Berkeley 
having  resigned  the  office  of  Senior  Greek  Lecturer,  Mr.  Delanj 
was  chosen  thereto.' 

Thus,  at  the  commencement  of  1722  Berkeley  was  Cbaplaia 
to  the  Lord  Lieutenant,  and  a  Senior  Fellow,  in  official  employ- 
ment at  Trinity  College  as  Lecturer  in  Divinity  and  as  Universitf 
Preacher. 

Although  the  ordinary  biographies  of  Berkeley  have  been  chielf 
a  record  of  his  ecclesiastical  preferments,  they  have  omitted  one 
recorded  promotion.  In  February  1722,  it  seems  that  he  was 
nominated  to  the  Deanery  of  Dromore.  The  Patent  is  dated  00 
the  loth  day  of  that  month,  in  the  Record  of  Royal  Presentations 
in  the  Patent  Rolls  of  Chancery  in  Ireland;  and  on  the  i6th 
February,  in  the  same  Record,  we  have  *  George  Berkeley,  Dean 
of  Dromore.* 

It  is  curious  that  this  preferment  does  not  seem  to  have  afiected 
Berkeley's  Fellowship  or  his  other  University  offices^  which  he 
retained  as  before.  It  does  not  appear  that  he  ever  went  ta 
Dromore,  nor  can  I  find  any  contemporary  recognition  of  him  as 
holding  the  ecclesiastical  rank  of  Dean  during  these  years.  Tbe 
Duke  of  Grafton  must  have  left  Dublin  for  some  months  in  1729, 
for  in  February  the  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  Viscount  Shannon,  and 
William  Connolly,  Esq.,  were  sworn  Lords  Justices  ^  and  Berkeley 


'  See  Gent.  Mag,  vol.  XLVI.  p.  569.  at  six  per  cent.    It  was  probably  aboot  £3A 

*   In    172  a — 23,    the    annual    salary   of  In  1761  the  office  was  made  a  Regiui  IVth 

Archbishop  King's  Lecturer  in  Divinity  was  fessorship. 

the  interest  of  £500,  which  may  be  taken 


Dublin. 


95 


W'hmve  lost  his  temporary  chaplaincy  at  a  time  when  this 
Deanery  offered  itself.  His  connection  with  it  is,  on  the 
however,  rather  puzzling.  It  was  an  office  which  imposed 
Jtory  labour,  however,  not  even  residence.  The  Cathedral 
lore  was  a  parish  church,  and  no  Dean  resided  there.  The 
leats  were  from  the  rectoral  tithes  of  several  parishes. 
fifty  years  ^o,  the  income  was  about  fourteen  hundred 
and  we  may  suppose  that  in  Berkeley's  time  it  was 
Looally  lucrative  *. 

M  4th  of  June,  1722, 'the  places  of  Catcchist  and  Hebrew 
r  io  Trinity  College  becoming  vacant  by  the  resignation  of 
Imsley,  Dr.  Delany  was  chosen  Catechist,  and  Dr.  Berkeley 
'  Lecturer.*  This  Hebrew  Lectureship,  which  he  held  for 
wo  years,  added  about  forty  pounds  to  Berkeley's  income^, 
cmbcf  173a,  he  was  also  made  Senior  Proctor. 
I  Tit,  accordingly,  Berkeley  seems  to  have  been  chiefly 
rd  in  College  work,  having  an  income  as  Hebrew  Lecturer, 
or  Proctor,  and  as  one  of  the  Senior  Fellows''.  We  may 
;  that  he  was  at  this  time  occasionally  in  the  society  of 
and  steady  friend  at  the  Deanery  of  St.  Patrick's.  That 
sited  England  we  learn  from  a  letter  of  Gay  to  Swift, 
^ondon,  December  22,  1722.  'Whomsoever  I  see  that 
rom  Ireland,'  Gay  writes, '  the  first  (Question  I  ask  is  after 


tbc  dnlici  of  Ihc  Dean  of  Dio- 
IbHowing  Htricl  from  the  PulLi- 
luTD  fiw  1834  may  »u(Iice : — '  The 
r  ti»  Cslbobil  Church  of  Chiut 

OCT  (if  DiomOR. Thai  ire 

liBlber  it  IbcK  jny  houic  of  t«i- 
Uned  to  tbit  dignituy.'  It  on 
re  been  one  of  Ihe  ■  hedge 
of  which  Swift  vhtei  in  one  of 
'We  hiTe  w*et>l  of  ihein,' 
'  la  IidiDd,'  ll  appein  from 
1I  there  wu  »me  qoeslioii  about 
■gc  of  the  Dnmunc  AtxacTj. 
llie  Libnry  Renter  it  wemi  thai 
lenovcd  a  Helnew  BiUe  1711— 

iho*>  \a  *ai  then  working  al 

mit  hi  Hftntw  wi(  eiublithed  in 
•Hj  a)  (  vtCf  eailf  period,  but 
•o  fomdalion  -n  endowment  for  iti 
e,  altboDgh  an  eiami- 


Arti.  The  originul  itatulci  of  Trinity  Col- 
lege impoied  the  duty  of  lecturing  in  Hebrew 
and  Gteck  upon  Ihe  lame  petHHi.  For  the 
biftory  of  the  Chair,  lee  fiuUm  Univtruly 
CoHmuuiDH  Reforl,  p.  56.  The  nlary 
in  Berkeley'*  time  wai  about  fony  poundi. 
The  SeDiot  Proftot  received  a  portion  of  the 
feci  paid  for  the  higher  Ucgreei.     Hii  ihare 

forty- five  poundt. 

Betkeley'i  (ourcei  of  College  income 
daring  theie  yean  were  Ihu»:—(i  J  Salary  al 
Senior  Fellow ;  (1}  The  emolumenii  of  the 
ibove-nicntioned  oflicci ;  (j)  Commoution 
granted  for  conunoat  and  other  indulgencei : 
I4)  Special  premiion  voted  for  iitiifaclory 
d.ichiige  of  office).  In  all,  perhaps  he  had 
■bout  a  hundred  and  fifty  pi       '  '     ,     - 


nally  Tul. 


e  hundred  11 


Thou 
appear 


o  have 


96  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

ycxir  health;  of  which  I  had  the  pleasure  to  hear  very  lately  fiom 
Mr.  Berkeley  ^* 

A  romantic  incident,  with  which  Swift  is  closely  connected, 
belongs  to  Berkeley's  history  in  1723.  It  might  have  severed 
him  from  Swift,  but  it  did  not.  It  added  fortune  to  the  prefer- 
ment of  which  he  was  ah-eady  in  possession,  and  it  strengthened 
his  resources  for  carrying  out  philanthropic  plans  in  which  he  was 
then  indulging  in  imagination.  The  circumstances  in  which  the 
fortune  came  to  him  show  his  power  of  permanently  touching  even 
those  who  met  him  casually  with  a  sense  of  the  extraordinary 
beauty  of  his  character. 

The  name  of  Mrs.  Vanhomrigh  occasionally  occurs,  it  may  be 
remembered,  in  Swift's  Journal  to  Stella.  She  was  the  widow  of 
Bartholomew  Vanhomrigh,  a  Dutch  merchant*.  Her  daughter 
Esther  was  the  celebrated  Vanessa,  whose  relation  to  Swift  is  one 
of  the  mysteries  of  that  strange  life.  It  seems  that  in  the  spring 
of  1 7 13,  when  Swift  was  opening  Berkeley's  way  into  LondcMi,  he 
carried  him  one  day  incidentally  to  dine  at  the  house  of  VanessL 
He  was  certainly  not  a  frequent  visitor  there.  We  have  the  evi- 
dence of  Mrs.  Berkeley,  in  the  ^ograpUa  Britanmcay  that  ^her 
husband  never  dined  but  once  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Vanhomrigl^ 
and  that  was  only  by  chance.'  This  too,  he  has  been  heard  to  say, 
was  ^the  first  and  last  time  in  his  life  in  which  he  ever  saw  Vanessa.' 

Vanessa  died  in  May  17^3.  Some  years  before  her  deathi 
having  lost  her  mother,  she  removed  with  her  sister  from  Londoo 
to  Ireland,  and  in  171 7  took  up  her  abode  on  her  little  property 
of  Marley  Abbey,  near  Cellridge,  a  pleasant  village  ten  miles 
west  of  Dublin,  probably  in  the  hope  of  enjoying  the  society  of 
the  man  to  whom  her  heart  was  given.  Swift  had  attracted  her 
in  London ;  he  now  tried  to  repel  her  by  indifference  in  Ireland. 
Her  impetuous  temper  and  active  imagination  drove  her  to 
desperation,  when  she  discovered  the  Dean's  connection  witk 
Stella,  to  whom  he  had  been  privately  married  by  Dr.  Ashe^ 
Bishop  of  Clogher,  in  the  garden  of  the  Deanery,  in  the  spring 
of  17169.     The    death  of   her   sister  in   17^0  seems  to  ha?c 

^  Swift's  Corrtspondenct,  Life   of  Dean  Swift'   (p.   zzxti),  in  ikl- 

'  A  certain  '  Bart.  Vanhomrigh '  was  Lord  Littrary  R§lict,  where  this  incidicDt  is  it":! 

Mayor  of  Dublin  in  1697—98.  lated  on  the  authority  of  Bishop  Berkcky. 
*  See  Monck  Berkeley's  '  Inquiry  into  the 


Dublin,  97 

i  force  to  her  onfoituoate  passion,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
ivc  increased  Swift's  reserve.  But  she  brought  the  matter  to  a 
i  when  ^e  wrote  to  ask  Stella  the  nature  of  her  connection 
ilh  Swift,  Stella  forwarded  the  letter  to  the  Dean,  and  in  reply 
■formed  Vanessa  of  his  marriage.  Swift  hurried  to  Marlcy  Abbey 
d  Sang  the  letter  on  the  table.  The  tragical  issue  is  known '». 
T  heart  was  crushed.  She  at  once  revoked  a  Will  made  in 
•our  of  Swift,  and  settled  the  reversion  of  her  considerable 
le,  which  included  Marley  Abbey,  upon  Berkeley,  and  Mr. 
br^ial,  who  was  afterwards"  one  of  the  Judges  of  the  Court 
'  Common  Pleas  in  Ireland.  They  were  also  named  as  sole 
ecutors.  Her  succession  amounted  to  about  ^8,000,  which 
S  to  be  equally  divided  between  the  two. 
The  particulars  in  the  Will  of  Esther  Vanhomrigh  explain  al- 
i  in  some  of  Berkeley's  letters.  Here  is  a  copy,  extracted 
1  the  Registry  of  the  Prerogative  Court  in  Ireland  : — 

In  the  name   of  God,  Amen.— I  Esther  Vanhomrigh,  one   of  the 
ileis  of  Bailbolomew  Vanhomrigh,  late  of  the  city  of  Dublin,  Esq. 
I.  being  of  sound  and  disposing  raind  and  memory,  do  m^e 
onJani  this  my  last  will  and  lesiament,  in  manner  and  form  follow- 
that  is  to  say;— First,  I   recommend  my  soul  into  the  hands  of 
ighty  God,  and  my  body  I  commit  to  the  earth,  to  be  buried  at  the 
ion  of  my  executors  hereinafter  named.     In  the  next  place,  I  give 
j  devise  all  my  worldly  substance,  whether  in  lands,  tenements,  here- 
linents,  or  trusts,  and  ail  my  real  and  persona!  estate,  of  what  nature 
Hnd  soei-er.  unto  the  Reverend  Doctor  George  Bcrkly,  one  of  the 
of  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  and  Robert  Marshal  of  Clonmel 
Ibcir  bars,  executors,  and  administrators,  chargeable  nevertheless 
and  subject  and  liable  to  the  payment  of  all  such  debts  of  my  own 
as  I  shall  owe  at  the  lime  of  my  death,  as  also  unto  the 
:ni  of  the  several  legacies  hereinafter  bequeathed,  or  which  shall 
be  be<)uealhed  by  any  codicil  to  be  annexed  to  this  my  last  will 
testament :    Item,  I  give   and   bequeath   unto   Erasmus  Lewis  of 
I,  Esq,  the  sum  of  nvcniy-five  pounds   sterling  to  buy  a  ring : 
I  give  and  bequeath  unto  Francis  Annesly  of  the  city  of  London, 
twemy-five  pounds  sterling  to  buy  a  ring:  Item,  I  give  and  be- 
ll  unto  John  Hooks.  Esq,  of  Gaunts  in  Dorsetshire,  twenty-five 


••  Ust  the  (aunropiw  ifHictRl   SwlFi 

ihfii  tl»t  he  Til 

cd  lh»  c 

ouDty  of  Coilc, 

■.  tcfUia.     Aftn  th.  (I«th  of  V«.™, 

Q  iht  ■C«l*nj 

kft  OobEn  fo.  «roe  oomh..     It  wu 

Rock.,' 

'  1"  >7SJ- 

9 8  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

pounds  sterling  to  buy  a  ring :  Item,  I  give  unto  the  Right  Reverend 

Father  in  God  William  King,  Lord  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  twenty-fife 

pounds  sterling,  to  buy  a  ring :  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  the 

Right  Reverend  Father  in  God  Theop.  Bolton,  Lord  Bishop  of  Gonfert, 

twenty-five  pounds  sterling,  to  buy  a  ring:  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath 

unto  Robert  Lindsey  of  the  city  of  Dublin,  Esq.  twenty-five  pounds 

sterling,  to   buy  a  ring:    Item,  I  give  and    bequeath    unto   Edmund 

Shuldam  of  the  city  of  Dublin,  Esq.  twenty-five  poimds  sterling,  to  buj 

a  ring  :  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  William  Lingin  of  the  castk  of 

Dublin,  Esq.  twenty-five  pounds  sterling,  to  buy  a  ring :  Item,  I  give  and 

bequeath  unto  the  Rev.  Mr.  John  Antrobus,  my  cousin,  the  like  sum  of 

money,  to  buy  a  ring :  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  Bryan  Rolnnson, 

doctor  of  physic  in  the  city  of  Dublin,  fifteen  pounds  sterling,  to  buy  a 

ring  :  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  Mr.  Edward  Cloker  of  the  city  of 

Dublin,  fifteen  pounds  sterling,  to  buy  a  ring :  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath 

unto  Mr.  William  Marshal  of  the  city  of  Dublin,  fifteen  pounds  sterlingi 

to  buy  a  ring :   Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  John  Finey,  son  of 

George  Finey  of  Kildrought  in  the  county  of  Kildare,  and  godson  to  mj 

sister,  the  sum  of  twenty-five  pounds  sterling,  to  be  paid  to  him  when  he 

shall  attain  the  age  of  twenty-one  years :  Also  I  give  and  bequeath  to  , 

his  mother,  Mrs.  Mary  Finey,  the  sum  of  ten  pounds  sterling,  to  bof 

mourning,  and    to   Mrs.  Ann  Wakefield,  her  sister,  of  the  parish  of 

St.  Andrews  in  the  city  of  Dublin,  the  like  sum  to  buy  mourning :  Item, 

I  give  and  bequeath  unto  Ann  Kindon,  who  is  now  my  servant,  the  sum 

of  fis^  pounds  sterling,  to  buy  mourning ;  and  to  her  daughter,  Ann 

Clinkokells,  the  like  sum  of  money,  to  buy  mourning :  Item,  I  give  and 

bequeath  unto  every  servant  that  shall  live  with  me  at  the  time  of  my 

death  half  a  years  wages;  and  to  the  poor  of  the  parish  where  I  do 

happen  to  die,  five  pounds  sterling :  And  I  do  hereby  make,  constitute, 

and  appoint  the  said  Dr.  George  Berkly,  and  Robert  Marshal  Esq.  of 

Clonmel,  sole  executors  of  this  my  last  will  and  testament     And  I  do 

hereby  revoke  and  make  void  all  former  and  other  wills  and  testaments 

by  me  in  anywise  heretofore  made,  either  in  word  or  writmg  and  dedarc 

this  to  be  my  last  will  and  testament.     In  witness  whereof,  I,  the  said 

Esther  Vanhomrigh,  have  hereunto  set  my  hand  and  seal,  this  first  day 

of  May,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1723. 

E.  VANHOMRIGH  (Seal). 

Signed,  published,  and  declared  by  the  said  Esther  Vanhomrigh,  for 
and  as  her  last  will  and  testament,  in  presence  of  us,  who  attest  the  same 
by  subscribing  our  names  in  presence  of  her  the  said  testatrix, 

JAS.  DOYLE.    ED.  THRUSH.    DARBY  GAFNY. 


W*}'  Duilin.  99 

Tbe  hsi  w3  md  testnMiit  of  Esther  Vanhomrigfa,  late  deceased 
«iid  ao  forth),  was  pnnred  in  common  form  of  law,  and  probat 
bf  Ac  most  Reverend  Father  in  God  Tliomasy  and  so  forth,  to 
It  Bfiffmnd  George  Beikefy  and  Robert  Marshal,  the  executors,  they 
idiilf  fini  smKntk  personally.    Dated  the  6th  of  June  1723. 

A  true  copy,  which  I  attest, 

JOHN  HAWKINS,  Dep.  Reg. 

Tins  curiously  did  fortune  come  to  Berkeley.  The  news 
BHttQiaUy  surprised  hioL  Tbou^  he  had  been  Uying  near  the 
W^  lor  almost  two  years,  after  his  return  to  Ireland  in  Aug^t 
173X9  lie  bad  not  seen  her  once. 

IHhe  unesqpected  trust  involved  Berkeley  in  annoyances  which 
hfted  for  many  years.  They  are  often  referred  to  in  his  letters 
pAidi  follow. 

It  is  said  by  Stock  that  Vanessa  on  her  deathbed  delivered  to 
ftfrv  Marshal  a  copy,  in  her  own  handwriting,  of  her  correspon- 
dence with  the  Dean,  with  an  injunction  to  publish  it  immediately 
after  her  death,  as  well  as  the  well-known  poem  of  Cademus  mU 
Vmussm.  He  adds  that  this  injunction  was  disobeyed  at  the  in- 
stance of  Berkeley,  who  was  moved  by  friendship  for  Swift,  and 
desire  to  avoid  a  scandal.  But  there  is  really  no  evidence  that 
Vanessa  ever  enjoined  the  revenge.  The  poem  of  Cadenus  and 
VMmessa  was  published  soon  after  her  death.  Berkeley,  we  are 
told,  destroyed  the  original  letters  of  the  correspondence,  'not 
because  there  was  anything  criminal  in  them,  but  because 
delicacy  required  him,  he  thought,  to  conceal  them  from  the 
public^.'  If  the  report  of  this  destruction  is  true,  a  copy 
must  have  been  preserved  by  Mr.  Marshal.  Soon  after  his 
death  extracts  found  their  way  to  the  press;  and  the  entire 
*  Correspondence  between  Swift  and  Miss  Vanhomrigh,'  which 
extends  from  August  1712  till  August  1722,  was  published  in 
Scotfs  edition  of  the  works  of  Swift,  in  1814.  'The  sum  of 
the  evidence  which  they  aflFord,'  says  Scott ^3,  'seems  to  amount 
to  this — that,  while  residing  in  England  for  some  years,  and 
at  a  distance  from  Stella,  Swift  incautiously  engaged  in  a 
correspondence  with  Miss  Vanhomrigh,  which  probably  at  first 
meant  little  more  than  mere  gallantry,  since  the  mother,  brother, 

»  Stock's  Lift.  »  Workt  of  Swift,  vol.  I.  pp.  255—59. 

H  2 


lOO  Life  and  Letters  of  BerkeUy.  [ch. 

and  sister,  seem  all  to  have  been  confidants  of  their  intimaqr. 
After  his  journey  to  Ireland,  his  letters  assume  a  graver  cast,  and 
consist  rather  of  advice,  caution,  and  rebuke  than  expressions 
of  tenderness.  Yet  neither  his  own  heart,  nor  the  nature  of 
Vanessa's  violent  attachment,  permit  him  to  suppress  strong, 
though  occasional  and  rare,  indications  of  the  high  r^ard  in  which 
he  held  her,  although  honour,  friendship,  and  esteem  had  united 
his  fate  with  that  of  another.  .  ,  .  .  The  letters  of  Miss  Van- 
homrigh  plead  in  extenuation  of  her  uncontrollable  affection,  the 

high  moral  character  of  its  object Swift,  under  Vanessa's 

pen,  remains  a  matchless  model  of  virtue,  just  and  perfect  in 
everything,  but  in  want  of  tenderness;  the  picture,  in  short, 
usually  drawn  by  a  male  lover  of  his  relentless  mistress.  It  is 
the  language  of  the  most  romantic  attachment,  but  without  the 

least  tincture  of  criminal  desire It  was  the  unrequited 

passion  of  Vanessa,  not  the  perfidy  of  Cadenus,  which  was  the 
origin  of  their  mutual  misery  \  for  she  states  Swiffs  unhappiness 
as  arising  from  her  love,  and  declares  herself  at  the  same  time 
incapable  of  abating  her  affection.  Enough  of  blame  will  remain 
with  Swift,  if  we  allow  that  he  cherished  with  indecisive  yet  flat- 
tering hope  a  passion  which,  in  justice  to  himself  and  Vanessa, 
he  ought,  at  whatever  risk  to  her  feelings  and  his  own,  to  have 
repressed  as  soon  as  she  declared  it.  The  want  of  firmness  which 
this  conduct  required,  made  every  hour  of  indecision  an  act  of  real 
cruelty,  though  under  the  mask  of  mercy  j  and  while  it  trained 
his  victim  towards  the  untimely  grave  which  it  prepared,  ruined  at 
the  same  time  his  own  peace  of  mind.' 

We  return  from  this  mysterious  episode  to  follow  Berkeley  out  of 
the  College  of  Dublin.  In  April  1724,  according  to  the  Register, 
he  was  nominated  by  the  Duke  of  Grafton  to  the  living  of  Ardtrca 
and  Arboe,  vacant  by  the  death  of  the  Rev.  Christopher  Jenney. 
Almost  simultaneously  he  must  have  heard  of  his  nomination  to 
the  Deanery  of  Derry.  The  records  inform  us  that  on  *  April 
16,  upon  Dr.  Berkeley's  being  made  Dean  of  Derry,  it  was 
agreed  by  the  Provost  [Dr.  Baldwin^,  and  Senior  Fellows,  that 
his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  the  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland, 
should  present  a  clerk  or  clerks  to  the  livings  of  Ardtrea  and 
Arboe,  vacant  by  the  death  of  the  Rev.  Christopher  Jenney  j  and 


rv.]  Dgrry.  aoi 

accordingly  he  presented  the  Rev.  Mr.Jedin  Sbadwell  to  Ardtrea, 
and  the  Rev.  Pascanus  Ducassfi  to  Atboc.' 

The  donation  to  Berkeley  ol  the  Deaneiy  of  Deny  was  dated 
May  2,  1724.  He  was  instituted  and  installed  oa  the  14th  oS 
May,  On  the  2nd  of  May  tbe  Deanery  of  Dtomore  was  given 
to  John  Hamilton  1 '.  On  the  3ist  of  April,  *  Mr.  "niompson  was 
chosen  Hebrew  Lecturer  in  the  room  oS  Dr.  Berkeley,  iriio 
resigned  that  office ;'  and  on  the  19th  of  May,  *  Dr.  Berkeley, 
being  installed  Dean  of  Derry,  sent  a  resignation  of  his  Senior 
Fellowship  10  the  Provost  yesterday,  being  the  i8th  of  this 
instant,  upon  which  Dr.  Clayton  was  admitted  and  co-opted 
Senior  Fellow"'.' 

Thus  Berkeley's  official  connection  with  Trinity  College  endsi 
In  his  fortieth  year  he  appears  before  us  as  Dean  of  Derry,  no 
'hedge  di^ancry,' but  one  in  which  residence  and  ecclesiastical  work 
were  required.  The  Deanery  of  Deny  was  then  one  of  the  best 
pieces  of  preferment  in  the  Irish  Church.  The  annual  inoMne 
vas  about  eleven  hundred  pounds".  Berkeley  owed  the  pro- 
motion to  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  whose  Vice-r^al  reign  ended 
in  this  same  month  of  May.  This  Deanery  was  an  important 
'  ecclesiastical  position.  It  was  '  a  great  frontier  against  the  Dis- 
senters.' It  bad  *  five  cures  in  it,  and  the  necessity  of  a  fifth  in 
the  Isle  of  Inch,  where  there  were  a  hundred  families,  and  an 
old  diapel,  seven  miles  from  the  parish  church,  without  the  power 
of  getting  to  any  church  without  crossing  the  sea".*  So  wrote 
Archbishop  King,  who  was  himself  once  Bishop  of  Derry,  and 
the  circumstances  mentioned  by  him  are  alluded  to  in  some  of 
Berkeley's  letters. 

I  have  not  found  when  Berkeley  went  to  reside  at  D^rry,  or 
whether  be  went  there  at  all.     He  emerges  from  the   darkness 

"  See  Uin-  Mimmm.     Jobn  Himilton, 
Bofcclc/*!  luoxMor  in  I7>4  in  the  Otutay 

aS  Diomote,  wai  ordained  Deacnn  in  March  Dr.  Dickion. 

1717,  and  Priett  in  June  of  ihat  ]ie»r —  "  The  caie  of  Derry  wai  different  from 

Dculr  three  feiri  ifler  hii  preientation  to  Diomore.     The  Dean  of  Derrj  wai  Rector 

the  Daaaj.     See  Cotton'i  FatH,  vol.  111.  of  the  church,  and  had  tereral  cur«,   ai 

p.  ^^3,     Wai   thii  an  instance  of  penoni  well  a«  a  Deanery  home.     The  obligation 

allowed  to  bold  cathedral  preferment!  with-  of  reiidence  wai  thui  much  itronger  than  at 

otit  being  in  holjr  orden— Hid  to  have  been  Dromote,  though  in  ttiii  matter  there  wat 

not    iincoiniiio&   in    Irebiid    in    the   tefen-  at  that  time  a  ciitomary  laiity. 
teenth  centorr?  "  See  Manl't  Hatory  of  lU  Chureh  </ 

"  For  tbe««,  M  well  U  lot  preceding  ex-  Ir^aiid,  TOl.  11  p.  jSj- 


I02  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

of  the  summer  of  171Z4  in  an  unexpected  mood  of  mind — with 
his  heart  ready  to  break  '  if  his  deanery  be  not  taken  from  him.' 
The  history  of  this  curious  revelation  of  character  is  contained 
in  the  following  sentences  of  a  letter  from  Swift  to  Lord  Carteret, 
the  new  Lord  Lieutenant  '* : — 

\Dublin\^  September  3,  1724. 

There  is  a  gentleman  of  this  kingdom  just  gone  for  England.  It  is 
Dr.  Greorge  Berkeley,  Dean  of  Derry,  the  best  preferment  among  us, 
being  worth  £1100  a  year.  He  takes  the  Bath  on  his  way  to  London; 
and  will  of  course  attend  your  Excellency,  and  be  presented,  I  suppose, 
by  his  friend  Lord  Burlington.  And  because  I  believe  you  will  choose 
out  some  very  idle  minutes  to  read  this  letter,  perhaps  you  may  not  be 
ill  entertained  with  some  account  of  the  man  and  his  errand. 

He  was  a  Fellow  of  the  University  here ;  and  going  to  England  very 
young,  about  thirteen  years  ago,  he  became  the  founder  of  a  sect  called 
the  Immaierialists,  by  the  force  of  a  very  curious  book  upon  that 
subject.  Dr.  Smalridge  and  many  other  eminent  persons  were  his 
proselytes.  I  sent  him  Secretary  and  Chaplain  to  Sicily  with  my  Lord 
Peterborough ;  and  upon  his  lordship's  return.  Dr.  Berkeley  spent  above 
seven  years  in  travelling  over  most  parts  of  Europe,  but  chiefly  through 
every  comer  of  Italy,  Sicily,  and  other  islands.  When  he  came  back  to 
England,  he  found  so  many  friends  that  he  was  effectually  recommended 
to  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  by  whom  he  was  lately  made  Dean  of  Deny. 

Your  Excellency  will  be  frighted  when  I  tell  you  all  this  is  but  an 
introduction ;  for  I  am  now  to  mention  his  errand.  He  is  an  absolute 
philosopher  with  regard  to  money,  titles,  and  power;  and  for  three 
years  past  has  been  struck  with  a  notion  of  founding  a  University  at 
Bermudas,  by  a  charter  from  the  Crown.  He  has  seduced  several  of 
the  hopefullest  young  clergymen  and  others  here,  many  of  them  well 
provided  for,  and  all  in  the  fairest  way  for  preferment ;  but  in  England 
his  conquests  are  greater,  and  I  doubt  will  spread  very  far  this  winter. 
He  showed  me  a  little  Tract  which  he  designs  to  publish;  and  there 
your  Excellency  will  see  his  whole  scheme  of  a  life  academico-philo- 
sophical  (I  shall  make  you  remember  what  you  were)  of  a  College 
founded  for  Indian  scholars  and  missionaries;  where  he  most  exor- 
bitantly proposes   a  whole  hundred  pounds  a  year  for  himself,  fifty 

^'  John,  second  Lord  Carteret,  born    in  raged    learning    by  his    example  and   his 

1690.     He  was  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland  patronage,  and  was  one  of  the  most  ccm- 

from  1724  to  1730.     On  the  death  of  his  siderable  of  the  sUtesmen  and  orators  of  his 

mother  in  1 744,  he  became  Earl  Granville.  time. 
He  died  in    1 763.      Lord  Carteret  encou- 


IV.]        In  London — Enthustasitt  about  America.        103  I 

pounds  for  a  Fellow,  and  len  for  a  Siudent.  His  heart  will  break  if| 
Ins  Deanery  be  noi  taken  from  him,  and  left  to  your  Excellency's  dis- 
ponl.  t  discouraged  him  by  the  coldness  of  cnuns  and  ministers,  who  I 
will  htierpret  all  ibis  as  impossible  and  a  vision ;  but  nothing  will  do. 
And  therefore  I  humbly  entreat  your  Excellency  either  to  use  such 
persuasions  as  will  keep  one  of  the  first  men  in  the  kingdom  for  learning 
anil  virtue  quiet  at  home,  or  assist  him  by  your  credit  to  compass  his 
roioaotic  design;  which,  however,  is  very  noble  and  generous,  and 
Jircctly  proper  for  a  great  person  of  your  excellent  education  to  en- 


We  can  only  conjecture  when  and  why  this  now  absorbing  pro- 
ject of  a  Christian  University  for  the  civilisation  of  America  took 
possession  of  the  Dean  of  Derry,  .ind  carried  him  to  London  with 
his  new  Deanery  in  his  hand,  ready  to  be  surrendered  less  than 
sii  months  after  it  had  been  given  to  him.  Swift  says  that  the 
Bermuda  project  had  been  in  Berkeley's  mind  for  more  than  three 
years  before  he  hurried  to  London  in  1714.  This  takes  us  back  to 
the  South  Sea  convulsion,  when  he  was  so  deeply  moved  by  that 
sudden  uutbreak  of  social  distemper.  His  despair  of  Great  Britain 
and  the  old  civilisation  may  have  directed  his  eye  to  the  West, 
with  its  vast  Continent,  open  to  half  the  human  race,  where  with 
the  'rise  of  empire  and  of  arts,'  he  hoped  for  another  golden  age. 
It  is  difficult  for  lis  now  to  see  the  halo  of  romance  with  which 
America  was  at  first  invested  in  the  minds  of  many,  or  to  feel 
as  a  sensitive  poetical  nature,  full  of  ardent  philanthropy,  might 
have  felt,  amid  the  coarseness  and  corruption  of  European  society, 
when  a  fair  virgin  sfiil,  and  ample  resources  for  a  simple  virtuous 
people  were  seen  across  the  ocean.  America  was  in  Berkeley's 
days  partly  what  India  is  in  ours,  full  of  attractions  to  benevo- 
lence. The  Christian  associations  of  the  early  part  of  last  cen- 
tury sent  their  missions  to  America.  The  Society  (or  the  Pro- 
pagation of  the  Gospel  was  founded  in  1701  with  this  immedi- 
ately in  view.     Berkeley's  Verses  on  the  Prafect  of  p/avting  Artt 

Lfaming  in  yimrrica  express  his  own  feeling  of  the  contiast    ' 
between  the  'decay  of  Etirope'  and  the  J 

■ '"FPy  cli™«.  lli=  mt  of  innoCMice,  I 

Whrre  nature  guidct,  ind  tinuc  rulu,  J 

WheiE  men  ihaJl  net  impoic  for  truth  iiid  >«iie.  ^^^^| 

The  [xdtiiiiy  of  courU  and  Khnolt.'  .^^^^| 


I04  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

His  desire,  in  the  years  that  followed  his  return  to  Ireland^ 
after  his  residence  in  England  and  on  the  Continent  of  Europe — 
where  he  observed  the  scholasticism  of  Universities,  the  debase- 
ment of  social  rank,  and  the  professional  religion  of  ecclesiastics — 
was  to  sacrifice  the  fruits  of  his  own  social  advancement,  in  favour 
of  a  more  hopeful  civilisation,  and  a  more  genuine  academic  life, 
as  soon  as  those  fruits  were  considerable  enough  to  supply  strength 
for  the  execution.  Vanessa's  legacy,  and  then  the  Deanery  of 
Derry,  told  him  that  his  time  was  come.  -  The  opulent  pre- 
ferment he  offered  to  resign;  the  legacy,  and  the  remainder  of 
his  life  he  proposed  to  dedicate  to  instructing  the  youth  of 
America,  as  President  of  an  ideally  perfect  University  in  the  Isles 
of  Bermuda.  Such  was  the  force  of  his  disinterested  example  and 
eloquent  enthusiasm,  that,  among  others,  three  Junior  Fellows  of 
Trinity  College — William  Thompson,  Jonathan  Rogers,  and  James 
King — agreed  to  share  his  fortunes,  if  he  should  succeed  in 
founding  it,  and  were  willing  to  exchange  their  good  prospects 
at  home  for  a  settlement  in  the  Atlantic  ocean,  at  forty  pounds 
a  year. 

Berkeley  left  Dublin  for  London  in  September  1724,  thus 
encouraged,  and  full  of  those  thoughts.  His  immediate  purpose 
in  London  was  to  gather  associates  and  money,  and  to  obtain  a 
Royal  Charter.  Whether  he  was  presented  to  Lord  Carteret  *^, 
the  new  Viceroy,  by  Lord  Burlington,  we  have  no  information. 
But  we  soon  find  him  at  work  in  London,  among  Doctors  and 
Bishops  and  Peers,  organizing  means  for  raising  money.  One 
of  his  first  acts  after  his  arrival  was  to  publish  the  'tract*  to 
which  Swift  alludes — A  Proposal  for  the  Better  Supplying  Churches  m 
our  Foreign  Plantations^  and  for  Converting  the  Savage  Americans  to 
Christianity y  hy  a  College  to  he  erected  In  the  Summer  Islands ^  other-^ 
wise  called  the  Isles  of  Bermuda.  Here  his  plan  is  unfolded  and 
eloquently  enforced. 

Various  considerations   induced  Berkeley  to  choose  the   Ber- 
mudas for  the  College  which  was  to  be  the  centre  and   basis 


'*  Lord  Carteret  was  the  patron  of  another  Hutchesoa  opened  an  Academy  in  Dablio 

Irish  philosopher — Francis  Hutcheson  ( 1 694  about  172 1,  and  passed  there  the  eight  fol- 

— 1746),  afterwards  Professor  of  Moral  Phi-  lowing  years.    His  Inquiry  inio  tbt  Original 

losophy  in  Glasgow,  and  one  of  the  founders  qfoiur  Jdetu  ofBtauty  and  Virtue  is  dedi- 

of  the  Scotch  Philosophy  of  Common  Sense.  cated  to  Lord  Cvterct. 


n*.}        In  Lottdon — EnUutsiasm  about  Atncrica.        105 

of  his  American  operations.  In  his  Propoial^  he  enumerates 
with  the  minuteness  of  a  practical  man  the  desirable  circiim- 
sUqcl-s  of  place,  and  then  finds  or  imagines  them  in  those  en- 
chanted islands.  With  the  warmth  of  a  poet  he  pictures  their 
gtnial  sun'  and  'virgin  earth,'  and  an  atmosphere  'perpetually 
faaad  and  kept  cool  by  sea  breezes,  which  render  the  weather  the 
healthy  and  delightful  that  could  be  wished,  being  of  one 
eqtol  tenor  almost  throughout  the  whole  year,  like  the  latter  end 
ol"  a  fine  May,'  The  story  of  the  adventures  of  Sir  George  Som- 
ncra,  from  whom  the  islands  took  their  name,  had  invested  the 
seat  of  the  proposed  Great  Western  University  with  the  charm 
of  roouDCc  in  the  minds  of  his  countrymen.  The  Summer  Islands 
had  been  a  fairy  land  of  poets.  Shakespeare  makes  his  Artel 
lay  that  she  had  been  called  up  at  midnight  '  to  fetch  dew  from 
6e  still  vexed  Bcrmoothes.'  Waller  found  them  a  place  of  refuge, 
and  sang  the  praises  of  their  lemons  and  oranges,  Hesperian  gar- 
dens, pearls  and  corals — 

'For  the  luod  ipring.  which  but  ululci  u>  bn(, 
Inbabiti  theu,  ind  couiU  them  all  the  yat : 
Ripe  fruiti  and  blouoini,  oa  ihe  ume  tree)  Mit; 
At  once  ihcf  promiie.  ind  it  once  (hej  ^te. 

Node  licklf  li*t),  or  i\et  bcrore  hii  lime. 
Bearen  lure  has  kept  ihii  ipat  of  einh  nncanl. 

To  ihow  how  all  ihingt  were  ciealed  RisC*".' 

Berkeley  pictures  to  himself  the  inhabitants  as  simple  and 
frugal,  *  a  contented,  plain,  innocent  sort  of  people,'  free  from 
anricc  and  luxury,  as  well  as  the  other  corruptions  that  attend 
these  vices.  It  was  to  him  a  land  of  blue  skies,  rich  fruits,  coral 
tt/ands,  and  a  virtuous,  innocent  race. 

Bermuda  he  imagined  to  be  well  situated  as  a  place  of  meeting 
for  students.  Colonial  and  native  Indian,  both  from  the  Continent 


n  fntgatten  the  Sumtiiet  Itliiidi. 


t)B  oa  diaf  caut. 


a  hii  Oda  fo  Nia  : 


'  FarrweJl  la  Bermuda,  ind  lung  aay  the  bloo 
Of  the  lemon  und  mynle  its  valiiet  peifijoie ; 
J  ^ting  to  elenuty  hallow  the  ihade. 
~t  Atiel  hu  mibled  and  Waller  h»  iliayed.'B 


io6  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

and  from  the  Islands  of  America.  The  little  group  is  distant  580 
miles  from  Cape  Hatteras,  the  nearest  point  in  North  America, 
and  is  about  equally  far  away  from  the  Islands  in  the  Caribbean 
Sea.  He  pleased  himself  by  reflecting  upon  this,  as  contributing 
to  an  established  harmony  of  Bermuda  with  his  Mission.  Yd 
a  mind  less  charged  with  subtle  fanciful  enthusiasm  might  hare 
been  apt  rather  to  consider  the  distance,  which  exposed  tix 
^savage  children'  he  would  have  to  teach  to  the  difficulty  and 
danger  of  a  long  voyage,  in  addition  to  a  long  journey,  as  a  bar 
to  the  success  of  the  seminary. 

He  was  at  first  disposed  to  trust  to  voluntary  liberality.  In 
the  'Proposal  he  says  that '  if  his  Majesty  would  be  graciously  pleased 
to  grant  a  Charter  for  a  College  to  be  erected  in  a  proper  place,  it 
is  to  be  hoped  a  fund  may  be  raised,  by  the  contribution  of  wdl 
disposed  persons,  sufficient  for  building  and  endowing  the  same/ 
Perhaps  it  might  have  been  better  for  the  project  in  the  end  if  he 
had  kept  to  the  notion  of  contributions  and  subscriptions.  The 
effects  of  his  fervid  enthusiasm  upon  the  disposition  even  of 
those  little  likely  to  be  moved  were  extraordinary.  Wartoa 
says  ^^  that  Lord  Bathurst  told  him  that  ^  all  the  members  of  the 
Scriblerus  Club  being  met  at  his  house  at  dinner,  they  agreed  ! 
to  rally  Berkeley,  who  was  also  his  guest,  on  his  scheme  at  Bcr-  i 
mudas.  Berkeley,  having  listened  to  all  the  lively  things  they 
had  to  say,  begged  to  be  heard  in  his  turn ;  and  displayed  his  plan 
with  such  an  astonishing  and  animating  force  of  eloquence  and 
enthusiasm,  that  they  were  struck  dumb,  and,  after  some  pause,  rose 
up  all  together  with  earnestness,  exclaiming — "Let  us  all  set  out 
with  him  immediately.***  Nor  was  the  zeal  transient.  He  persuaded 
many  to  help  him.  More  than  five  thousand  pounds  was  raised— 
a  large  sum  in  those  days — which  might  have  been  largely  in- 
creased if  the  author  of  the  Proposal  had  continued  to  rely  on  the 
good  will  of  private  persons. 

The  following  list  of  subscriptions,  in  Berkeley's  own  hand- 
writing, is  contained  among  the  Berkeley  Papers: — 

^  Esf-ay  on  Pope,  vol.  II.  p.  254,  * ...  A  which  appear  the  names  of  Arbuthoot,  Bes- 
committec  of  persons  for  receiving  contri-  son,  Hutchinson,  Sherlodc,  and  othen  amoog 
butious  and  subscriptions  was  announced,  in       Berkeley's  friends/ 


i. 


In  LoKdon — Eniktisiasm  tUout  Anurua.     107 


Subscrif^uu /er  Btnmida, 


JtiOO 


EdwMd  Hailey,  Ew).  . 
Benjamin  Hoaie,  Esq.  . 
Ladjr  Bet^  Hastings  . 
Sir  Robert  Walpde  .  . 
Doke  (tf  Chandos  .  . 
Tbomu  Stanhiq)^  Esq. 
Mrs.  DreHncoittt  .  .  . 
Tk.  Felling  .... 
Ano&er  dergyman  {added  in 
tmoihtr  hmd,  BpL  Beritdey)  100 

Mia  Road too 

Lady,    who    desires    to   be 


Gentleman,  who  dcsim  to  be 
imknowu •  100 


!>ean  of  York  and  his  brother  Sybo 

Eatl  of  Oxford aoo 

Dr.  Strafford lOO 

iir  Matthew  Decker ....  lOO 
Lady,    who    desires    to    be 

unknown 6«> 

Lord  BaCeman loO 

—  Archer,  Esq. ,  of  Soho  Square  goo 

Dr.  Riindle lOO 

Dr.  Grandorge lo6 

Lord  Pembroke 300 

Lend  Peterborough    ....  105 

Lord  Arran 300 

Lord  Percival        SOO 

Archibald  Hutchinson    .    .     .  aoo 
John  Wolfe,  Esq.       ....  lOO 


Berkeley's  endeavour  from  the  first  was  to  obtain  a  Charter. 
He  found  a  way  to  the  ear  of  GeMge  L  It  is  said  that  for  this 
be  was  indebted  to  a  distinguished  Venetian,  the  Abbe  Gualteri, 
whom  he  met  in  Italy,  and  who  was  afterwards  in  Court  circles 
in  London — one  of  the  scientific  foreigners  whose  conversation 
the  Icing  occasionally  found  pleasure  in.  By  Lord  Egmont  and 
other  common  friends  he  was  recommended  to  Sir  Robert  Wal- 
pole,  then  in  supreme  power.  The  favourable  disposition  of  the 
king,  and  Berkeley's  own  persuasive  eloquence,  secured  the  pro- 
fessed neutrality  of  the  Prime  Minister.  As  early  as  June  1735, 
'a  Patent  passed  the  seals  for  erecting  a  College  in  the  Island  of 
Bermudas,  for  propagation  of  the  Gospel  among  the  Indians  and 
other  Heathens  on  the  Continent  of  America,  and  constituting 
Dr.  Berkeley,  Dean  of  Londonderry,  Principal  of  the  said 
College  ^*.' 

Not  satisfied  with  this,  Berkeley  contrived  other  plans.  The 
island  of  St.  Christopher,  one  of  the  Caribbce  cluster,  had  for 
fears  been  in  dispute  between  the  English  and  French,  who  had 
both  established  settlements  upon  it  at  the  same  time,  in  1625. 
rhis  island  was  at  last  ceded  to  Great  Britain,  by  the  treaty  of 
LJtrccht,  in  1713.  Berkeley  made  a  minute  search  of  its  value, 
ind  formed  a  plan  for  the  improvement  of  the  lands.     He  asked 

"  Hiitarital  Rigiiltr — '  Chronologicil  Diar;'  for  June,  17*5. 


io8  Life  afid  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch; 

that  part  of  the  enhanced  purchase  money  should  be  given  to 
the  Bermuda  College.  The  king  was  so  well  pleased  with  this 
arrangement  that  he  directed  Sir  Robert  Walpole  to  propose  it 
to  the  House  of  Commons.  Berkeley  threw  himself  into  the 
movement  with  incredible  ardour.  He  found  means  to  address 
every  member  of  the  House  in  support  of  his  plan,  as  one 
favoured  by  the  king,  and  not  opposed  by  the  Minister.  His  suc- 
cess was  such  that,  on  the  nth  of  May  1726,  with  only  two 
dissentient  voices,  the  House  of  Commons  addressed  the  king  in 
favour  of  'such  a  grant  for  St  Paul's  College  in  Bermudas,  out  of 
the  lands  of  St.  Christopher's,  as  might  seem  to  his  Majesty 
sufficient  for  the  purpose  2^.*  Sir  Robert  Walpole  accordingly 
promised  jf  20,000.  Lord  Townshend,  astonished  at  the  success 
of  Berkeley's  canvassing,  expostulated  with  the  Minister  on  his 
passivity.  Walpole  seems  not  to  have  anticipated  the  result 
He  took  for  granted,  he  said,  that  the  very  preamble  of  the  Bill 
would  have  insured  its  rejection,  and  explained  that  only  the 
wonderful  persuasive  power  of  the  Dean  of  Deny  could  have 
made  it  otherwise. 

The  Charter  authorised  the  erection  of  a  College  in  the  Ber-  | 
mudas,  to  be  called  the  College  of  St.  Paul,  and  to  be  governed 
by  a  President  and  nine  Fellows,  who  were  to  form  the  Corpo- 
ration. Berkeley  was  named  the  first  President,  and  his  three 
Dublin  associates  the  first  Fellows.  They  were  all  allowed  to 
retain  their  preferments  at  home  for  eighteen  months  after  their 
arrival  in  the  Islands.  Other  six  Fellows  were  to  be  appointed 
by  them  within  three  years,  and  the  surviving  members 
of  the  Corporation  were  to  have  power  to  elect  to  all  future 
vacancies.  The  Bishop  of  London  was  named  as  Visitor,  and 
the  Secretary  of  State  for  the  Colonies  was  appointed  Chancellor. 
The  College  was  declared  to  be  for  the  instruction  of  students  in 
literature  and  theology,  with  a  view  to  the  promotion  of  Christian 
civilisation  alike  in  the  English  and  in  the  Heathen  parts  of 
America. 

Berkeley  spent  four  years  in  these  preparations,  from  the  autumn 
of  1724  till  the  autumn  of  1728.    He  then  was  in  England,  chiefly 

*  JiiUorical  RegUter, 


In  London — Enthusiasm  about  America.         log 

London.     It  was  in  these  years  that  he  occasionally  attended 

Court  of  Caroline  at  Leicester  Fields,  when  she  was  Princess 

Wales,  and  afterwards  at  St.  James's  or  at  Kensington,  not 

he  loved  courts,  but  because  he  loved  America.     C'arke 

still  officiating  in  his  parish  Church  in  London,  and  Butler 

not  till   1725  go  into  the  seclusion  of  his  Durham  rectory. 

rlock   was   Master  of  the  Temple,  and  Hoadlcy  was  Bishop 

Salisbury.      Caroline   liked    now   and   then   to   hear   a  tKeo- 

^cal  debate.      She  had  a  philosophical  interest  in  theological 

;ions,  and  a  political   interest  in  the  Universities  and  the 

irch.     Years  before,  when  Princess  of  Wales,  she  had  acted 

a  TOyal  go-between  in  the  famous  controversial  correspondence 

Clarice  and  Leibnitz.     And  now,  when  Berkeley  was  staying 

London,  she  was  glad  to  include  Clarke  and  Hoadley,  along 

til  Sherlock  and  himself,  in  her  weekly  gatherings,  and  to  hear 

edlcy  supporting  Clarke,  and  Sherlock  supporting  Berkeley.     It 

s  from  a  hope  of  advancing  the  interests  of  his  College  that 

rkeley  was  persuaded  to  submit  to  what  he  thought  *the  drudgery' 

f  bearing  a  part  in  these  fruitless  debates  with  Clarke^'. 

Some  of  Berkeley's  anxieties  and  disappointments  in  the  long 

Igotiation  which  issued  in  the  Charter,  the  subscriptions,  and  the 

Dmise  of  an  endowment,  find  vent  in  his  letters  to  Thomas  Pnor. 

fc  have  lost  sight  of  Prior  since  Berkeley  was  in  Italy  in  1714. 

e  reappears  in  Dublin  in  1724,  and  he  was  probably  there  during 

Dst  of  Berkeley's  residence  in  the  three  previous  years.     From 

cccmbcr  1724,  through  all  the  four  years  of  Bermuda  negotia- 

ms,  we  have  letters  from  Berkeley  in  London  to  Prior  at  Dublin. 

besc   letters   form  our  picture   of  his   life  during  this  curious 

»iod.     Prior  seems  to  have  been  a  sort  of  fattoium — a  judicious 

Ktical    friend,  who    interposed    between   him   and  immediate 

ntact  with  some   of  the  details  of  ordinary   life.      Berkeley's 

tiers  to  him  are  tlius  naturally  concerned  with  the  vulgar  more 

A*a  with  the  ideal  interests  of  life.     The  perplexities  consequent 

ofcn  the  Vanhomrigh  succession  fill  a  larger  space  in  them  than 

the  Bermudas. 


-  5m  Kog.  BritI  ...1  tli— AddtDdi  ind 

Dr.  SimucI  Cl>rke  before  Qureo  Ciroline. 

arinnda.    Bctkdcjr.  wc  an  cbtwhctc  told. 

thru  l>iinc«>  of  Wiles— had  a  migniliceiit 

»  HlaUKd  m  Engliiii)  before  he  >et  off  for 

|nld    Bintal   piesenTcd  to  bim   by   hii  lite 

maJMty  [Gfoige  11]  u  i  keepake/— ftt- 
/o«  W  Me-<k  BtrMly.  p.  «»av. 

U  ».  Jun»'.  MB.  ^Jf.  .  week  to  di.pnte  with 

no  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

Let  us  look  at  Berkeley  as  he  appears  in  a  letter  to  Prior  in 
December  1724 — ^the  first  of  this  series : — 

London,  December  8,  1724. 
Dear  Tom, 

You  wrote  to  me  something  or  other,  which  I  received  a  fortnight 
ago,  about  temporal  affairs,  which  I  have  no  leisure  to  think  of  at 
present  The  L.  Chancellor  is  not  a  busier  man  than  myself;  and  I 
thank  God  my  pains  are  not  without  success,  which  hitherto  hath  an- 
swered beyond  expectation.  Doubtless  the  English  are  a  nation  irh 
iclairie,  I  have  only  time  to  tell  you,  that  Robin"  will  call  on  you  for 
thirteen  pounds.  Let  me  know  whether  you  have  wrote  to  Mr.  Newman 
whatever  you  judged  might  give  him  a  good  opinion  of  our  project 
Let  me  also  know  where  Bermuda  Jones  lives,  or  where  he  is  to  be  met 

with.     I  am,  yours,  &c., 

G.  BERKELEY. 

I  lodge  at  Mr.  Fox's,  an  apothecary  in  Albemarle  Street,  near  St 
James's. 

Provided  you  bring  my  affair  with  Partinton  to  a  complete  issue  before 
Christmas  day  come  twelvemonth,  by  reference  or  otherwise,  that  I  may 
have  my  dividend,  whatever  it  is,  clear,  I  do  hereby  promise  yoa  to 
increase  the  premium  I  promised  you  before  by  its  fifth  part,  whatever 
it  amounts  to. 

The  Charter — self-restraining  patience  amid  the  delays  caused 
by  the  King's  absence,  and  by  the  state  of  public  afifairs — and  the 
weary  alternations  of  the  Vanhomrigh-Partinton  business,  which 
never  slacken  his  Bermuda  zeal,  succeed  one  another  in  the  letters 
of  1735:— 

April  20,  1725. 
Dear  Tom, 

Nothing  hath  occurred  since  my  last  worth  writing;  only  Clarke 
afiirms  the  jewels  were  part  of  the  father's  goods,  to  be  divided  as  the 
rest.  He  saith  they  were  claimed  as  such  from  Partinton  by  the 
daughters,  and  that  this  may  appear  by  the  writings.  I  long  to  hear 
that  Mr.  Marshal  and  you  have  agreed  on  what  is  due,  and  taken 
methods  to  pay  it,  &c. 

Pray  give  my  service  to  Caldwell ;  and  let  him  know  that  in  case  he  ; 
goes  abroad  with  Mr.  Stewart,  Jaques,  who  lived  with  Mr.  Ashe**,  is  de- 

^  His   brother,  afterwards    Dr.   Robert  ^  His  pupil  Ashe,  with  whom  he  travtfld 

Berkeley.  on  the  Continent. 


I?.]  iMiers  from  Engkmd.  iii 


to  stiaid  19011  Ibbl    I  tliink  liim  a  veiy  proper  servant  to  travel 

vUi  a  gendemaa;  but  beSeving  ham  sofBcienll/  known  to  Caldwell,  I 

thd  fcxbeHr  reoommendiiig  him  in  more  words. 

I  hsfe  obtained  reports  fiom  tiie  Bishop  of  Lcmdon  [Gibson],  the 

Bosid  of  Trade  and  Fhnlations,  and  the  Attorney  and  Solicitor  General, 

m  bvom-  of  die  Bermuda  sdieme,  and  hope  to  have  Ibe  warrant  signed 

Iv  his  MUestr  diis  week.    Yours, 

G.  BERKELEY. 


Dear  Tom, 

I  KaTB  been  dus  mormng  with  Mr.  Wogan,  who  hath  undertaken  to 

irfbnn  himadf  about  the  vahie  of  our  South  Sea  stock,  and  what  must 

bedone  In  (xder  to  impower  Mm  to  receive  it    I  have  nothing  more  to 

add  to  mj  last  letter;  only  to  desire  yxm  to  transact  with  Marshal  and 

Fntinton  ao  as  may  dispose  them  to  terminate  all  matters  by  a  speedy 

irijilnrticwi,  I  care  not  before  whom,  lawyer  or  not  lawyer.    I  very  much 

widi  dttt  we  could  get  the  reversionary  lands  off  our  hands.    If  Par- 

tnlon's  own  inclination  for  them  should  be  a  stq[>  to  the  sale,  I  wish  he 

ksd  diem.    Bitf  die  conduct  of  all  these  masters  I  must  leave  to  your 

own  caie  and  jmidenoe:   only  I  long  to  see  them  finished  for  our 

common  interest.     I  must  desire  you  to  give  yourself  the  trouble  of 

tending  me  by  the  very  next  post  a  bill  of  forty  pounds,  payable  here  at 

the  shortest  sight     Pray  fail  not  in  this ;  and  you  will  oblige,  dear  Tom, 

jrours  uncerely, 

G.  BERKELEY. 

Yesterday  the  Charter  passed   the  Privy  Seal.     This  day  the  new 
Chancellor  ^  began  his  office  by  putting  the  Recepi  to  it. 
Landofty  June  3,  1725. 


London,  June  12,  1725. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  WBOTE  to  you  some  time  since  for  forty  pounds  to  be  transmitted 

hither.     I  must  now  beg  you  to  send  me  another  forty  pounds.     I  have 

bad  no  answer  to  my  last ;  so  if  you  have  not  yet  negotiated  that  bill, 

make  the  whole  together  foiirscore  pounds ;  which  sum  I  shall  hope  for 

by  the  first  opportunity.     Mr.  Wogan  hath  not  yet  found  out  the  South 

Sea  stock,  but  hath  employed  one  in  that  office  to  inquire  about  it. 

As  soon  as  I  am  informed  myself,  I  shall  let  you  know.     He  is  also  to 

make  inquiry  at  Doctors'  Commons  to  know  what  must  be  done  in  order 

»  Sir  Peter  King  (created  Lord  King),  be-       1733.  and  died  in  the  following  year.     He 
Lord  Chancellor,  June  i,  1 725,  resigned       was  the  nephew  of  John  Locke. 


112  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

to  prove  the  present  property  in  us,  and  to  empower  him  to  receive  it 
In  order  thereunto,  I  have  given  him  a  memorial  of  what  I  knew.  I 
hope,  as  soon  as  he  sends  these  directions,  they  will  be  complied  with 
on  that  side  the  water.  It  was  always  my  opinion  we  should  have 
such  an  agent  here.  I  am  sure,  had  he  been  appointed  a  year  agone, 
our  affairs  would  have  been  the  better  for  it. 

The  Charter  hath  passed  all  the  seals,  and  is  now  in  my  custody.  It 
hath  cost  me  1 30  pounds  dry  fees,  besides  expedition-money  to  men  in 
office. 

Mr.  Percival  writes  that  he  hath  given  you  the  bonds.  I  must  intreat 
you,  dear  Tom,  to  get  the  residue  of  last  year's  rent,  with  an  account 
stated  from  Alderman  M'Manus.     I  am  yours  sincerely, 

G.  BERKELEY. 


London^  July  20,  1725. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  HAVE  been  of  late  in  much  embarrass  of  business,  which,  with 
Mr.  Wogan's  being  often  out  of  town,  hath  occasioned  your  not  hearin||[ 
from  me  for  some  time.  I  must  now  tell  you  that  our  South  Sea  stock, 
&c,  is  confirmed  to  be  what  I  already  informed  you,  viz.  880  pounds, 
somewhat  more  or  less.  You  are  forthwith  to  get  probates  of  Alderman 
Pearson's  will,  Partinton's  will,  and  Mrs.  Esther  Van  Homrigh's  will,  in 
which  names  the  Exchequer  annuities  were  subscribed,  transmitted 
hither,  together  with  two  letters  of  attorney,  one  for  receiving  the  stock, 
the  other  for  the  annuities.  You  will  hear  from  Mr.  Wogan  by  this  post, 
who  will  send  you  more  particular  directions,  together  with  a  copy  of 
such  letters  of  attorney  as  will  be  necessary.  In  case  Pearson  refuses  to 
sign  the  letter,  let  him  send  over  a  renunciation  of  any  right  therein, 
which  will  do  as  well.  It  may  suffice,  without  going  through  all  the 
steps,  to  tell  you  that  I  have  clearly  seen  it  made  out  how  the  Exchequer 
annuities,  subscribed  in  the  name  of  the  three  forementioned  persons,  came 
(through  various  mutations  incident  to  stock)  to  be  worth  this  money, 
and  likewise  to  have  begot  other  annuities ;  which  annuities,  stock,  and 
dividends  unreceived  make  up  the  sum.  But  before  you  get  Partinton 
and  Marshal  to  sign  the  letters  of  attorney,  or  make  the  probates,  nay, 
before  you  tell  them  of  the  value  of  the  subscribed  annuity,  you  should 
by  all  means,  in  my  opinion,  insist,  carry  and  secure,  two  points ;  firsi^ 
that  Partinton  should  consent  to  a  partition  of  this  stock,  &c.  (which  I 
believe  he  cannot  deny) :  secondly,  that  Marshal  should  engage  not  to 
touch  one  penny  of  it  till  all  debts  on  this  side  the  water  are  satisfied. 


^JH  'tj  IjU&rs  /ram  JEngbmdi  11:5 

I cMi  tete  xouiroidd: fake  advioe»  and  l^iallf  secure  it  in  such  sort! 
in  ke  JBUgr  Mi  Krodi  it  ifbe  wiaidd  till  the  said  debts  are  paid  It 
lorid  btdK^imiigeat  thiog  in  tbe  world,  and  give  me  the  greatest  pain 
ImWi,  10  Onfc  ne  <Kd  not  administer  in  tbe  jiistest  sense.  Whatever 
^jfpona  to  be  doe,  let  it  be  instandy  paid;  here  is  money 
to  do  it.  And  here  I  mnst  idl  diat  Mrs.  Hill  hath  been  wldi^ 
1A0  aays  the  dd)t  was  the  mother's  originally,  bat  that  Mrs.  Esther 
il  ber  own,  by  ghiog  a  nole  for  the  same  under  her  hand,  which. 
note  IS  now  in  DuUin.  Mr.  Qarifie  hath  likewise  shewn  me  a  letter  ^f 
JfBBL,  EMier'a^wrft  by  him,  but. s^psed  by  her),  acknowledging  the  debt 
fe  htx  flsodier's  bori^  And  indeed  it  seems  she  must  hiEive  oecesr 
ati^flveB  order  for  that,  and  So  contract  the  debt,  since  the  party 
deocased  could  not  be  supposed  to  have  ordered  har  own  buriaL  These 
Aings  being  so,  I  would  see  MarsW  bn^qght  to  consent  to  the  payment 
cf  them,  oir  good  reason  assigned  why  they  should  not  be  paid.  Mrs. 
Tb^is  aUas  Barret  (a  v^  poor  woman)  is  in  great  want  of  her  dues. 
She  sttth  Qaike  and  Baron  can  attest  themi,  besides  that  they  s^pear  in 
Ibk  Esdier^s  aooonqpt-booL  I  must  therefore  intreat  you,  once  for  all». 
t»dear  up  and  agree  with  Marshal  what  is  due,  and  then  make  an  end^ 
If  piling  tfiat  which  it  is  a  shame  was  not  paid  sooner.  Query,  Why 
Ihe  ammities  should  not  have'  been  subscribed  in  Prat's  name,  if  B. 
V.  Homiigh  iiad  a  share  in  them  ?  For  God's  sake,  adjust,  finish,  con- 
dude  any  way  with  Partinton ;  for  at  the  rate  we  have  gone  on  these 
two  years,  we  may  go  on  twenty.  In  your  next,  let  me  know  what  you 
bve  proposed  to  him  and  Marshal,  and  how  they  relish  it.  I  hoped  to 
hve  been  in  Dublin  by  this  time ;  but  business  grows  out  of  business. 
1  have  wrote  lately  to  Alderman  M'Manus  to  clear  accounts  with  you. 
I  am,  dear  Tom,  yours  sincerely, 

G.  BERKELEY. 
Bermuda  prospers. 


London^  September  3,  1725. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  SUPPOSE  you  have  long  since  received  the  draughts  of  the  letters  of 
attorney,  &c.,  from  Mr.  Wogan,  with  his  letter  and  mine.  I  must  now 
add  to  what  I  there  said,  that  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  administer 
here  in  order  to  obtain  the  money  out  of  the  South  Sea.  This  is  what 
Mr.  Wogan  tells  me,  and  this  is  a  step  that  I  cannot  think  of  taking  till 
nch  time  as  the  debts  on  this  side  the  water  are  agreed  on  by  Mr.  Mar- 
dial  and  you;;  for,  having  once  taken  out  an  administratijn  on  this  side 

VOL.  IV.  I 


114  Lif^  ^^  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

the  water,  I  may  be  liable  to  be  put  to  trouble  here  by  the  creditora 
more  than  I  am  at  present  To  be  short,  I  expect  the  business  of  the 
debts  will  be  ascertained  before  I  take  any  steps  on  my  part  about  die 
stock  or  annuities.  I  must  further  tell  you,  that  in  case  Mr.  Marshal, 
does  not  send  orders  to  pay  all  the  debts  really  due,  with  particular- 
mention  of  the  same,  I  must  e'en  put  them  all  (pretenders  as  well  as  jnst 
creditors)  upon  attaching  or  securing  the  whole  effects  here,  in  South  Sea, 
&c.,  to  their  own  use,  wherein  I  shall  think  myself  obliged  to  be  aiding  to 
the  best  of  my  power.  Clarke  hath  brought  me  from  time  to  time  die 
pretensions  of  divers  creditors,  all  which  I  directed  him  to  send  to  you; 
and  he  saith  he  hath  sent  them  to  you.  I  think  Mr.  Wogan  should  be 
constituted  attorney  for  paying  the  debts  here,  as  well  as  for  getting  die 
stock.  If  my  brother  Robin  calls  upon  you  for  ten  pounds,  you  wiB 
let  him  have  it.     I  am,  dear  Tom,  yours, 

G.  BERKELEY.    * 

I  wrote  long  since  to  Caldwell  about  his  going  to  Bermudas,  but  had 
no  answer,  which  makes  me  think  my  letter  miscarried.  I  must  now 
desire  you  to  give  my  service  to  him,  and  know  whether  he  still  retaim 
the  thoughts  he  once  seemed  to  have  of  entering  into  that  design.  I 
know  he  hath  since  got  an  employment,  &c. ;  but  I  have  good  reason  to 
think  he  would  not  suffer  in  his  temporalities  by  taking  one  of  our 
fellowships,  although  he  resigned  all  that  In  plain  English,  I  have 
good  assurance  that  our  College  will  be  endowed  beyond  any  thing 
expected  or  desired  hitherto.  This  makes  me  confident  he  would  lose 
nothing  by  the  change ;  and  on  this  condition  only  I  propose  it  to  him. 
I  wish  he  may  judge  rightly  in  this  matter,  as  well  for  his  own  sake  as 
for  the  sake  of  the  College. 


Dear  Tom, 

It  is  an  age  since  I  have  heard  from  you.  You  have  long  since 
received  instructions  from  Mr.  Wogan  and  from  me  what  is  to  be  done. 
If  these  are  not  already  complied  with,  I  beg  you  will  lose  no  more  time, 
but  take  proper  methods,  out  of  hand,  for  selling  the  South  Sea  stock 
and  annuities.  I  have  very  good  reason  to  apprehend  that  they  will  sink 
in  their  value,  and  desire  you  to  let  V.  Homrigh,  Partinton,  and  Mr. 
Marshal,  know  as  much.  The  less  there  is  to  be  expected  from  them, 
the  more  I  must  hope  from  you.  I  know  not  how  to  move  them  at  this 
distance  but  by  you;  and  if  what  I  have  ab*eady  said  will  not  do,  I 
profess  myself  to  be  at  a  loss  for  words  to  move  you.     I  shall  therefor^ 


r" 


Letters  from  Englatid..-,  115' 

DBly  mention  three  points  (often  mentioned  heretofcve)  whidi  I  eantestif ' 
«i^  to  see  something  done  in.  \sl,  The  debts  oA  this  side  the  inter' 
'Rated,  if  not  with  concurrence  of  Mr.  Marshal,  wilfaoBt  1dm;  for  Bure- 
may  be  done  without  him,  by  the  papers  yon  bftTC  alruuly -wm,- 
(riiere  Clarke  saiih  they  all  appear,  td,  A  commiimoii  of  attonief  sent^ 
Id  Wogan  (who  1  am  assured  is  an  honest  and  capable  man)  to  transftct 
■U  affairs  here,  yi.  Matters  somehow  or  other  concluded  wifli  Paitinton.i 
Vou  have  told  me  he  was  willing  to  refer  them  to  an  arbitntkKW  but  not- 
oTlawyers,  and  that  Marshal  would  refer  them  only  »  lavjcre.  For  my 
part,  rather  than  fail,  I  am  for  referring  them  to  any  honest  koowinf 
'person  or  persons,  whether  lawyer  or  not  lawyer ;  aid  if  Hanhal  will  not' 
oome  into  this,  I  desire  you  will  do  all  yon  can  to  obl%e  faon,  eUiei  by- 
persuasion  or  otherwise  :  particularly  represent  to  Un  ty  aeohation  of> 
going  <with  God's  blessing)  in  April  next  to  Bermoda,  whidi  'nil  piti- 
ably make  it  his  interest  to  compromise  matters  out  of  hand;  bat  if  he' 
vitl  not.  agree  if  possible  with  Partinton  to  force  him  to  compliance  iO' 
pntting  an  end  to  our  disputes.  Partiotan  Van  I^tmui^  I  remember, 
upressed  a  desire  to  purchase  the  reversionary  lands.  I  beg  he  may  be 
allowed  to  do  it,  or  any  other  means  be  used  to  bring  bhn  to  consent  tv 
fte  sale  of  ihem. 

I  have  been  these  five  weeks  in  a  ramble  through  England".  I  came 
hither  two  or  three  days  since,  and  propose  leaving  this  place  in  a  day 
or  two,  and  being  in  London  by  the  time  answer  may  come  from  youj 
bni  not  being  sure  where  I  shall  lodge,  must  desire  you  to  direct  to  be 
left  with  Mr.  Bindon,  at  the  Golden-glove  in  Jermyn's  Street,  near 
KccadUly. 

And  now  I  must  desire  you  to  pay  to  my  brother  Robin  seventeen 
pounds,  for  which  his  receipt  will  be  sufficienL  I  am,  dear  Tom,  yours 
Bocerely. 

GEOR.  BERKELEY. 

Flaxley,  Oct.  15,  1725. 

December  2,  1735. 
Dear  Tom, 

1  AM  just  returned  from  a  long  ramble  through  the  country  to  London, 
*here  I  am  settled  in  my  old  lodging  at  Mr,  Fox's,  and  where  I  have 
met  with  two  letters  from  you,  after  a  very  long  and  profotmd  silence, 
which  made  me  apprehensive  of  your  welfare. 

1  presume  you  have  by  this  time  a  commission  for  the  administration 


II 6-  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

of  Mr.  Marshal,  which  was  to  have  gone  last  post  to  76U  from  Mrs. 
Wogan  and  Aspinwall.  I  do  think  it  necessary  that  Mr.  Marshal  should 
act,  both  as  he  hath  acted  hitherto  and  hath  right  to  act,  and  as  my 
attention  to  other  afifairs  makes  it  more  inconvenient  for  me.  You  will 
therefore  take  care  that  Mr.  Marshal  perform  his  part  without  delay. 
There  is  another  point  to  be  managed,  without  which  no  step  can  be 
taken  towards  transferring  the  stock,  and  that  is,  a  full  renunciation 
(since  he  will  not  act)  from  Mr.  Pearson,  provided  he  be  sole  heir  to  his 
father:  if  not,  the  other  heirs  must  concur  therein.  Was  there  any 
authentic  paper  or  declaration  by  which  it  legally  appeared  that  old 
Mr.  Pearson  was  only  a  trustee  concerned  in  the  stock  ?  This  alone 
would  do ;  but  I  knew  of  none  such.  I  beg  you  to  dispatch  this  affair 
of  the  stock,  and  the  other  points  relating  thereto,  which  I  former^, 
recommended  to  you,  and  which  I  hope  you  have  not  forgot.  I  long; 
to  hear  what  you  and  Mr.  Marshal  have  resolved  about  the  creditors :  it 
is  a  shame  something  is  not  done.  The  woman  of  St.  James's  coff'ee' 
house  claims  a  debt  upon  the  family,  for  coffee,  tea,  &c.  I  promised  to 
acquaint  you  with  it :  the  particular  sum  I  do  not  know,  but  suppose 
you  are  not  unacquainted  with  any  of  the  debts.  If  this  be  a  debt  that 
we  ought  to  pay,  I  desire  it  to  be  immediately  taken  care  of.  I  must 
repeat  to  you,  that  I  earnestly  wish  to  see  things  brought  to  some  con- 
clusion with  Partinton,  both  with  respect  to  the  suit  and  the  sale  of  the 
reversion.  Dear  Tom,  it  requires  some  address,  diligence,  and  manage- 
ment, to  bring  business  of  this  kind  to  an  issue,  which  should  not  seem 
impossible,  considering  it  can  be  none  of  our  interests  to  spend  our  lives 
and  substance  in  law.  I  am  willing  to  refer  things  to  an  arbitratjon, 
even  vote,  of  lawyers.  Pray  push  this  point,  and  let  me  hear  from  yoa 
upon  it     I  am  your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

G.  BERKELEY. 


Dear  Tom, 

I  HAVE  not  time  to  repeat  what  I  have  said  in  my  former  letters.  I 
shall  now  only  say  one  thing,  which  I  beg  you  to  see  dispatched  by  lU 
means,  otherwise  we  may  be  great  losers.  There  must  have  been  hein 
to  Alderman  Pearson  (whether  his  son  alone,  or  his  son  with  otheif){ 
but  there  must  of  necessity  be  heirs ;  and  those  heirs  must  have  administ 
tered,  otherwise  they  could  not  be  entided  to  his  effects.  Now,  what  ycW 
are  to  do,  is  to  get  a  full  renunciation  (or  declaration  that  they  and  dil 
Alderman  had  no  concern  otherwise  than  as  trustees  in  the  South  Ses 
stock  and  annuities)  from  the  said  heir  or  heirs,  with  a  proper  proof  ditf 


•nr.J  Leiiers  from  MngkmcL  \  17 

Ihqr  aie  sodi  bdr  or  heirs  to  Alderman  Pearson.  It  is  now  near  three 
aoodbaiiioe  I  tdd  700  diere  were  strong  reasons  for  haste;  and  these 
msoiis  glow  evoy  moment  stronger.  I  need  say  no  more — I  can  say 
lomocetayoiu    I  am,  dear  Tom,  yours, 

G.  B. 
Ar.  II,  1725. 


Dear  Tom, 

I  MKaMfMB  yomr  letters,  and  have  desired  Mrs.  Wogan  and  Aspinwall 
(br  duj  act  in  concert  in  all  things)  to  look  into  the  act  of  parliionefift 
fM  iHfntion,  tiboa^  I  doubt  it  cannot  be  to  aily  great  purpose  \  for 
te^gh,  \ff  the  act,  it  diould  iqppear  diat  Pearson  was  a  trustee,  yet  as 
4bt  was  flassed  long  before  the  South  Sea  stdbscriptions,  it  will  not,  I 
far,  Aerelqraj^iear  that  the  said  subsG^ptimis  were  part  of  his  trust  You 
tee  iBfofmed  us  diere  will  be  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  Mr .  Pearson's  re* 
■WMlUkm.  If  die  time  be  expired  since  the  old  gentleman's  (his  father's) 
deidi  that  by  law  is  limited  for  taking  out  letters  of  administration,  then  I 
mk  tdd  mch  single  rentmdation  may  be  sufficient,  without  troubling  the 
Jiaera.  Thb  you  win  inform  yourself  in  there.  .  Since  Mr.  Marshal  is 
xverse  to  it,  he  need  not  act  at  all ;  only  send  back  the  will  and  probate 
likher  for  me  to  administer  by.  I  know  not  what  trouble  this  may 
expose  me  to,  but  I  see  it  is  a  thing  must  be  done  in  justice  one  time 
or  another.  One  thing,  nevertheless,  I  must  repeat  and  insist  on ;  that 
«,  that  you  must  order  matters  so  with  Mr.  Partinton  Van  Homrigh 
Uiat  Mr.  Marshal's  share  and  nune  of  the  South  Sea,  &c.,  may  be  applied 
to  the  payment  of  English  debts  (as  you  formerly  have  assured  me  it 
should).  If  it  were  not  in  this  view,  I  might  incur  great  difficulties  by 
administering  here,  and  this  mone/s  lying  by  undivided,  as  the  Duchess 
of  Tyrconnel's  reversion  would  quite  disappoint  this  view.  I  have  not 
jet  been  able  to  find  Mr.  Levinge  at  his  lodgings  in  the  Temple.  I 
mist  desire  you  to  pay  the  sum  of  fifty  pounds  to  my  brother  Robin, 
vix)  will  call  on  you  for  it  I  must  also  desire  you  to  send  me  an 
account  of  what  money  is  in  Mr.  Synge's  hands  and  yours  belonging 
to  me,  as  likewise  of  the  draughts  that  I  have  made  for  money  upon 
tidier  of  you.  You  11  be  so  good  as  to  call  on  Mr.  Stanton,  and  pay  his 
Ul  when  in  Dublin.  I  called  several  times,  but  could  not  find  him,  to 
faiow  what  it  came  to.  You  will  also  inform  yourself  whether  Coll. 
^arrasland  demands  any  thing  for  the  running  of  my  horse,  and  pay  it ; 
as  likewise  whatever  is  due  for  the  other  horse  belonging  to  me ;  and  I 
you  a  present  of  them  both.  • 


1 1 8  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cii. 

I  am  exceedingly  plagued  by  these  creditors,  and  am  quite  tired  and 
ashamed  of  repeating  the  same  answer  to  them,  that  I  expect  every  poit 
to  hear  what  Mr.  Marshal  and  you  think  of  their  pretensions,  and  that 
then  they  shall  be  paid.  It  is  now  a  fuU  twelvemonth  that  I  have  beea 
expecting  to  hear  from  you  on  this  head,  and  expecting  in  vain.  I  shall 
therefore  expect  no  longer,  nor  hope  nor  desire  to  know  what  Mr.  Mar- 
shal thinks,  but  only  what  you  think,  or  what  appears  to  you  by  Mrs. 
V.  Homrigh's  papers  and  accounts,  as  stated  by  Clarke,  and  compared 
with  the  claims  of  creditors  long  since  transmitted  from  hence.  This  is 
what  solely  depends  on  you,  what  I  sued  for  several  months  ago,  and 
what  you  promised  to  send  me  an  account  of  long  before  this  time.  I 
have  likewise  sent  you  several  hints  and  proposals,  tending,  as  I  thought, 
to  shorten  our  affair  with  Partinton,  which,  at  the  rate  it  hath  hitherto  gone 
on,  is  never  likely  to  have  an  end;  but  to  these  points  I  have  never  re* 
ceived  any  answer  at  all  from  you.  I  hope  you  have  not  overlooked  or 
forgot  them.  Had  I  more  time  I  would  repeat  them  to  you ;  but  I  have 
only  time  to  add  at  present,  that  T  am,  dear  Tom,  your  affectionate 

humble  servant, 

GEOR.  BERKELEY. 
London^  Dec,  30,  1725. 

Passages  in  those  letters  to  Prior  show  that  Berkeley  must  have 
occasionally  rambled  in  the  rural  parts  of  England  at  this  period 
in  his  life.  We  have  hardly  any  clue  to  the  places  whidi  he 
visited.  His  visits  to  Lord  Pembroke  at  Wilton  arc  coD»- 
memorated.  The  charms  of  his  conversation  were  so  attractive 
there  that  it  is  said  he  had  to  leave  the  place  by  stratagem. 

Besides  the  letters  to  Prior,  we  have  other  occasional  glimpses 
of  Berkeley's  life  in  London,  in  1725  and  1726.  Thus,  a  letter 
from  Bolingbroke  to  Swift,  dated  London,  July  24,  1725,  con- 
tains the  following: — *Ford  brought  the  Dean  of  Derry  to  see 
me.  Unfortunately  for  me,  I  was  then  out  of  town;  and  the 
journey  of  the  former  into  Ireland  will  perhaps  defer  for  some 
time  my  making  acquaintance  with  the  other,  which  I  am  sorry 
for.  I  would  not  by  any  means  lose  the  opportunity  of  knowing 
a  man  who  can  in  good  earnest  espouse  the  system  of  Father 
Malebranche,  and  who  is  fond  of  going  a  missionary  to  the 
West  Indies.  My  zeal  for  the  propagation  of  the  Gospel  will 
hardly  carry  me  so  far ;  but  my  spleen  against  Europe  has  more 
than  once  made  me  think  of  buying  the  dominion  of  Bermudas^ 


Letters  from  England. 


119 


\  spending  the  remainder  of  my  days  as  far  as  possible  from 
h(»c  people  with  whom  I  have  passed  the  first  and  greatest 
of  my  life.  Health  and  every  other  comfort  of  life  is  to  be 
better  there  than  here.  As  to  the  imaginary  and  aitlficial 
kasures,  we  are  philosophers  enough  to  despise  them.     What 

ly  you?  Will  you  leave  your  Hibernian  Bock  to  some  other 
bepbcrd,  and  transport  yourself  with  me  into  the  middle  of 
Atlantic  Ocean?  We  will  form  a  Society  more  reasonable 
ad  more  uscfiil  than  Dr.  Berkeley's  College;  and  I  promise  you 
jlcmnly,  as  supreme  magistrate,  not  to  suffer  the  currency  of 
food's  halfpenny;  the  coiner  of  them  shall  be  hanged  if  he 
:s  to  set  foot  in  the  island^''.'  On  July  26,  1725,  Harley, 
Sari  of  Oxford,  writes  to  Swift  from  Dover  Street : — *  1  inquire  of 
sometimes  of  Dean  Berkeley:  I  was  sorry  to  hear  you  were 
icubled  with  that  melancholy  distemper,  the  want  of  hearing.' 
>n  Oclijbcr  15,  1725,  Pope  writes:  *  Dean   Berkeley  is  well,  and 

ippy  in  the  prosecution  of  his  scheme-V 

In    the    spring   of   1726,   Swift   revisited    England,   and   was 

ICC  more  among  his  old  friends,  Bolingbroke,  Bathurst,  and 
Irmbrokc,  Pope,  Arbuthnot,  and  Gay.  He  lived  much  with 
bpc,  at  his  beautifiil  villa,  and  the  Irish  patriot  became  more 
losely  united  in  friendship  than  ever  to  the  bard  of  Twickcn- 
un.  The  illness  of  Stella  hurried  him  back  to  Ireland  in  July, 
Dt  after  her  partial  recovery  he  returned  to  London,  for  the  last 
mc,  in  March  1727.  Swift  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  Leicester 
[cxisc,  and  was  often  with  Sir  Robert  Walpole.  Gulliver's  Travels, 
n,  were  about  this  time  amusing  and  delighting  all  classes,  and 
t  was  in  consequence  the  talk  of  the  town.  His  old  friend 
te  Dean  of  Derry  and  he  sometimes  met,  we  may  imagine,  in 
K  spring  of  1726,  and  in  the  spring  of  1727. 

The  following  letters  to  Thomas  Prior  contain  the  only  remain- 
^  record  by  Berkeley  himself  of  his  doings  in  1726.  In  them 
lerc  is  still  the  tiresome,  but  illustrative,  Vanhomrigh  executor- 
lip  aflair,  through  all  the  embarrassments  of  which  he  steadfastly 
trsocs  the  Bermuda  negotiations,  of  which  these  letters  give  the 
istary.     There  were  besides,  some  transactions  about  the  disposal 

a^ifft  Carrofonilma.    ■  Wood'*  lulfpenny"  occiiioned  l1>e  fjmoui  DrafUr't  Lillirt, 


1 20  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch, 

of  the  Deanery-house  at  Derry,  and  arrangements  for  church  service 
and  other  matters  there,  during  his  absence.  It  seems  from  one 
of  the  letters  that  he  hoped  Prior  might  have  gone  with  him  to 
Bermuda. 

London^  Jan.  20,  1725-6. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  AM  wearied  to  death  by  creditors:  I  see  nothing  done,  neither 
towards  clearing  their  accounts,  nor  settling  the  effects  here,  nor  finishing 
affairs  with  Partinton.  I  am  at  an  end  of  my  patience,  and  almost  of 
my  wits.  My  conclusion  is,  not  to  wait  a  moment  longer  for  Marshal, 
nor  to  have  (if  possible)  any  further  regard  to  him,  but  to  settle  all  things 
without  him,  and  whether  he  will  or  no.  How  far  this  is  practicable, 
you  will  know  by  consulting  an  able  lawyer.  I  have  some  confused 
notion  that  one  executor  may  act  by  himself;  but  how  far,  and  in  what 
case,  you  will  thoroughly  be  informed.  It  is  an  infinite  shame  that  the 
debts  here  are  not  cleared  up  and  paid.  I  have  borne  the  shock  and 
importunity  of  creditors  above  a  twelvemonth,  and  am  never  the  nearer; 
have  nothing  now  to  say  to  them :  judge  you  what  I  feel.  But  I  have 
already  said  all  that  can  be  said  on  this  head.  It  is  also  no  small  dis- 
appointment to  find,  that  we  have  been  near  three  years  doing  nothing 
with  respect  to  bringing  things  to  a  conclusion  with  Partinton.  Is  there 
no  way  of  making  a  separate  agreement  with  him  ?  Is  there  no  way  of 
prevailing  with  him  to  consent  to  the  sale  of  the  reversion?  Let  me 
entreat  you  to  proceed  with  a  little  management  and  dispatch  in  these 
matters ;  and  inform  yourself  particularly,  whether  I  may  not  come  to  a 
reference  or  arbitration  with  Partinton,  even  though  Marshal  should  be 
against  it  ? — Whether  I  may  not  take  steps  that  may  compel  Marshal  to 
an  agreement  ? — What  is  the  practised  method  when  one  of  two  executors 
is  negligent  or  unreasonable  ?  In  a  word.  Whether  an  end  may  not  be 
put  to  these  matters  one  way  or  other?  I  do  not  doubt  your  skill;  I 
only  wish  you  were  as  active  to  serve  an  old  friend  as  I  should  be  in  any 
affair  of  yours  that  lay  in  my  power.  All  the  papers  relating  to  Mrs.  V. 
Homrigh's  affairs  were  in  the  closet;  and  this  I  understand  you  have 
broke  open,  as  likewise  my  bed-chamber  (which  last,  having  none  of 
these  papers  in  it,  but  only  things  of  another  nature,  I  had  given  no 
directions  for  breaking  it  open) ;  but  I  do  not  find  the  effect  I  proposed 
from  it,  viz.  a  clear  account  of  the  debts  transmitted  hither,  though,  bf 
what  Clarke  tells  me,  it  would  not  take  up  an  hour  to  do  it.  Mrs.  Hfll 
is  very  noisy :  I  mention  her  as  the  last  that  was  with  me.  Pray  let  me 
know  your  thoughts  of  her,  and  all  the  rest  of  them  together.     Clarke 


isdB  lo^te.MttMlcfed  ^  Kervice  doae^  and  for  postage  of  kttera. 
knov  irtiinnin^  and  bow  jsbmI^  yoa  have  employed  him  (for  I  have 
en^lofed  Um),  and  will  .concert  widi  Marshal  and  Pardnton  what 
KNdd  have.  Qn.  Had  not  Mrs.  Hill  commenced  a  suit,  and  how 
matter  sbuids?  Bi^  agatn^  I  desire  to  hear  from  you  a  distinct 
cr  to  the  daim  <rf  eveiy  cre<fitor  sent  over  by  Clarke*  As  to  the 
ey  in  the  Soodi  Sea,  I  have  already  told  you,  that  the  tUng  to  be 
,  is  die  obtaining  the  renimdatipn  from  Pearson,  which  may  do  in 
the  old  gendeman  be  dead  a  year  and  a  day  (which  you  may  inform 
1^  wiiedieF  it  be  the  time  after  whichno  other  body  can  set  up  for 
.  I  hope  to  have  diis  by  the  next  post  I  must  also  repeat  to  you, 
[  veiy  modi  desire  to  have  my  last  letter  answered,  particularly  as  to 
noD^  matters;  ^dach,  depending  only  on  Synge  and  you,  I  flatter 
If  joa  will  not  defer.    I  am,  drar  Tom,  your  a£fecdonate  humble 

GEOR.  BERKELEY. 

f  the  next  post  I  shall  hope  for  an  account  of  my  own  money, 
^  it  shoold  require  a  day  or  two  more  before  yon  can  write  sads- 
«y  ock  the  other  points.  My  last  letters  I  directed  to  the  Free  Mason 
ee-honse,  and  inclosed  as  you  ordered ;  but  not  hearing,  am  in  ddubt 
:her  you  received  them. 


Dear  Tom, 

BBCKTVSD  yours  of  the  13th,  a  little  after  I  had  wrote  my  last,  directed 
je  Custom-house  Coffee-house.  You  say  the  letter  of  attorney  for  sub- 
>ing  the  annuities  into  the  South-Sea  stock,  show  these  annuities  to 
5  been  old  Van  Homrigh's.  This  would  make  all  easy.  1  beg  there- 
that  you  would  transmit  that  letter  hither,  or  let  us  know  how  we 
'  come  at  it.  As  to  my  administering  to  Pearson,  I  do  not  under- 
d  the  consequences  of  it ;  therefore  hope  it  will  not  be  necessary. 
I  say  that  if  you  cannot  prevail  on  Marshal  to  come  in  to  an  allow- 
5  of  the  just  debts,  you  will  send  me  your  opinion  of  them,  that  I  may 
em  myself  accordingly.  As  to  me,  I  know  not  how  to  act  or  govern 
elf:  I  depend  upon  your  compelling  Marshal  by  legal  methods,  and 
you  will  take  advice  thereupon,  and  act  accordingly.  That  was  the 
mtage  that  I  proposed  by  your  undertaking  to  act  for  me,  and  as  my 
mey  in  the  management  of  those  affairs,  viz.  that  you  would  see  that 
ice  was  done  to  the  creditors  and  to  me  by  Mr.  Marshal,  to  whom  I 
as  much  a  stranger  as  to  the  business.  I  have  said  this  and  many 
T  things   to  you  in  my  last,  which  I  suppose  you  have  received 


122  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

ere  now ;  and  as  I  am  very  earnest  and  instant,  I  doubt  not  yoa  will 
soon  let  me  see  that  you  exert  yourself,  and  answer  all  my  desires 
specified  in  that  and  the  foregoing  letters.  Dear  Tom,  I  am  at  present 
exceedingly  embarrassed  with  much  business  of  a  very  different  kind  I 
shall  nevertheless  administer  as  soon  as  I  see  that  nothing  else  is  wanting 
in  order  to  sell  the  stock,  and  pay  the  debts  herewith :  for  every  other 
step  I  shall  depend  on  you.  I  need  not  tell  you  what  I  formerly  hinted 
to  you.  You  see  I  was  too  true  a  prophet,  and  that  we  have  akeady  k>st 
considerably  by  this  delay. 

I  must  desire  you  to  pay  forty  pounds  to  my  brother.  Comet  William 
Berkeley*^,  quartered  in  Sligo,  or  to  his  order  in  Dublin,  for  which  you  will 
take  a  receipt,  and  place  it  to  my  account.  You  will,  I  presume,  soon 
hear  from  him. 

In  your  next,  pray  let  me  know  your  opinion  about  the  way  of  trans- 
mitting about  five  hundred  pounds  hither,  whether  by  bill  or  by  draug^ 
from  hence,  or  if  there  be  any  other  way  more  advantageous.  I  must 
once  more  entreat  you,  for  the  sake  of  old  friendship,  to  pluck  up  a 
vigorous  active  spirit,  and  disincumber  me  of  the  affairs  relating  to  tbe 
inheritance,  by  putting,  one  way  or  other,  a  final  issue  to  them. 

I  thank  God  I  find,  in  matters  of  a  more  difficult  nature,  good  effects 
of  activity  and  resolution ;  I  mean  Bermuda,  with  which  my  hands  are 
full,  and  which  is  in  a  fair  way  to  thrive  and  flourish  in  spite  of  all  oppo- 
sition.   I  shall  hope  to  hear  from  you  speedily;  and  am,  dear  Tom, 

yours  affectionately, 

GEOR.  BERKELEY. 
London,  Jan,  27,  1725-6. 


Dear  Tom, 

Mrs.  Wogan  and  Aspinwall  have  not  yet  been  able  to  see  the  act  of 
parliament,  which  I  am  pretty  sure  could  be  of  little  or  no  use  if  thejT 
had  seen  it ;  for  as  it  passed  several  years  before  the  South-Sea  business^ 
it  would  never  prove  that  Pearson  acted  as  trustee  in  the  subscriptions. 
But  if  there  be  any  paper  (as  you  seem  to  intimate  in  your  last),  that  sets 
forth  his  trust  in  that  particular,  you  need  only  procure  the  sight  thereof^ 
and  the  business  is  done ;  otherwise,  for  ought  I  can  see,  it  is  necessaij 
that  Mr.  Alderman  Pearson's  heir  or  heirs  renounce,  and  that  I  administer 
as  to  his  effects  in  this  province ;  otherwise  nothing  can  be  done,  as  I 
suppose  you  see  by  the  paper  of  instructions  sent  you  from  Doctors^ 
Commons.    Now  that  I  may  see  my  way  in  this  matter,  I  must  desire 

'^  This  is  the  only  aUusion  to  his  brother  William.     Cf.  p.  9. 


n-.] 


Letii-rs  from  England. 


123  1 

jwi  to  infonn  me  particularly  what  the  nature  of  administering  is,  what  it 
obliges  one  to,  and  to  what  it  may  expose  a  man.  I  have  not  yet  taken  out 
leUers  of  administration  to  Mrs.  V.  Homrigh  here,  nor  shall  I,  until  I  see 
tliEU  it  can  be  of  use :  that  is,  until  I  see  that  every  other  step  is  accom- 
Jifisbed  towards  the  immediate  selling  the  stock,  and  applying  it  as  it 
daonk)  be  applied.  What  I  wrote  in  my  former  concerning  the  year  and 
ft  day  for  administering,  &c.,  has,  I  find,  nothing  in  it,  as  I  am  now  told 
by  Mr.  Aspinwall,  from  whom  I  had  it,  and  who,  it  seems,  was  mistaken. 
I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  these  things,  that  you  may  see  where  the  stop 
is,  and  that  you  may  act  accordingly.  The  affair  of  the  creditors  I  must 
icoonuaend  to  you  of  course;  though  I  have  nothing  new  to  say,  but 
iDuly  thai  I  earnestly  refer  you  to  what  I  have  already  written  upon  that 
Biu)  Other  matters;  which,  after  all  that  hath  been  said,  I  need  not  repeat. 
\  hope,  dear  Tom,  that  you  will  exert  yourself  once  for  all,  and  give  a 
Bttsterly  finishing  stroke  to  the  whole  business  of  the  executorship.  If 
it  be  not  such  a  stroke  as  one  could  wish  at  law,  yet  a  finishing  one  of 
any  sort,  by  arbitration  of  lawyers,  or  not  lawyers,  before  I  leave  this 
pan  of  the  world,  would  be  very  agreeable. 

My  brother"  liaih  informed  me  that  Dr.  Ward  tells  hira  Colonel 
M'CasIand  is  not  inclined  to  add  to  the  trouble  of  his  other  business  that 
of  taking  any  further  care  of  my  tithes,  &c.  I  must  desire,  if  you  can 
lind  out  the  tnith  of  this,  to  let  me  know  it ;  for  it  will  be  time  for  me  to 
look  out  for  otlier  farmers.  I  had  once  thought  of  employing  a  brother" 
of  my  own,  but  have  now  no  thought  of  that  kind.  I  must  desire  you  to 
Knd  me  fifty  pounds  by  the  next  post. 

I  am  in  a  fair  way  of  banng  a  very  noble  endowment  for  the  College 
of  Bermuda,  though  the  late  meeting  of  parliament,  and  the  preparations 
of  a  fleet,  &c.,  will  delay  the  finishing  things,  which  depend  in  some 
measure  00  the  parliament,  and  to  which  I  have  gained  the  consent  of 
the  government,  and  indeed  of  wiiich  I  make  no  doubt;  but  only  the 
deUy,  it  Is  to  be  feared,  will  make  it  impossible  for  me  to  set  out  this 
Spring.  One  good  effect  of  this  evd  delay,  I  hope,  may  be,  that  you  will 
have  disembarrassed  yourself  of  all  sort  of  business  thai  may  detain  you 
bete,  and  so  be  ready  to  go  with  us.  In  which  case,  I  may  have  some- 
what to  propose  10  you  that  I  l>elieve  is  of  a  kind  agreeable  to  your 
mclinations,  and  may  be  of  considerable  advantage  to  you.  But  you 
naat  &ty  nothing  of  tliis  to  any  one,  nor  of  any  one  thing  that  I  have 
BOW  hinted  concerning  endowment,  delay,  going,  &c.     I  have  heard 


PlDbaMy  Robm.     Pel«l  Wiid,  D.D. 
obdcaD  iiul  «K  pr  ihe  Ptebtnili 


I 
I 


1 24  Life  aftd  Letters  of  Berkeley,  [CH. 

lately  from  Caldwell,  who  wrote  to  me  in  an  affair  in  which  it  will  not  be 
in  my  power  to  do  him  any  service.  I  answered  his  letter,  and  men- 
tioned somewhat  about  Bermuda,  with  an  overture  for  his  being  Fellow 
there.  I  desire  you  would  discourse  with  him  as  from  yourself  on  that 
subject,  and  let  me  know  what  your  thoughts  are  of  his  disposition 
towards  engaging  in  that  design.  I  am,  dear  Tom,  your  affectionate 
friend  and  humble  servant, 

GEOR.  BERKELEY. 
London^  Feb.  6,  1725-6. 


Dear  Tom, 

I  HAVE  wrote  to  you  on  several  points  to  which  I  have  had  no  answo*. 
The  bill  indeed  of  fifty  pounds  I  have  received ;  but  the  answer  to  other 
points  you  postponed  for  a  few  posts.  It  is  not  yet  come  to  hand,  and 
I  long  to  see  it.  I  shall  nevertheless  not  repeat  now  what  I  have  so 
often  insisted  on,  but  refer  you  to  my  former  letters,  which  I  hope  arc 
not  forgotten,  and  that  I  shall  be  convinced  they  are  not  in  a  post  or  two. 

In  your  last  you  mention  your  design  of  coming  to  London  this 
summer.  I  must  entreat  you  to  let  me  know  by  the  first  opportunity 
whether  you  persist  in  that  design,  and  in  what  month  you  propose  to 
execute  it,  and  as  nearly  as  possible  the  very  time.  Pray  fail  not  in  this; 
I  have  particular  reasons  for  desiring  it. 

There  is  one  point  that  will  not  admit  of  any  delay ;  I  mean  the  set- 
ling  my  Deanery  to  farm.  I  told  you  that  Dr.  Ward  had  informed  my 
brother  that  Col.  M'Casland  (who  hath  his  hands  full  of  other  business) 
cared  not  to  be  any  farther  concerned  in  it.  I  must  desire  you,  without 
loss  of  time,  to  inform  yourself  whether  this  be  so,  and  to  let  me  know 
what  instrument  I  must  send  to  you  to  empower  you  to  set  it.  This  by 
all  means  I  would  be  informed  of  the  next  post,  that  it  may  be  set  either 
to  the  same  persons  who  held  it  last,  or  else  to  Mr.  Bolton,  or  some 
other  person  of  sufficient  credit  and  substance  and  good  reputation.  I 
do  not  doubt  your  setting  it  to  the  best  advantage;  only  there  is  one 
thing  which  I  desire  you  to  insist  on,  viz.  that  instead  of  the  first  of  April 
and  the  first  of  June,  the  days  of  payment  for  the  current  year,  be  the 
first  of  December  and  the  first  of  February,  that  so  I  may  have  the  money 
against  my  voyage  to  Bermuda,  which  possibly  may  not  be  till  this  time 
twelvemonth.  Whatever  trouble  you  are  at  in  this  affair,  I  shall  acknow- 
ledge in  the  proper  manner,  and  shew  myself  thankful  for  it.  I  thought 
I  should  be  able  to  have  gone  to  Ireland,  and  transacted  this  affair 
myself. 


ir.J  ]  Ldteri  ff^m  England.  M5 

.  Ihul even oiioe  fban^  I  should  be  able  to  have  set  out  for  Berotmda. 
Aitssttdn;  but  Us  lfa|e8t/s  long  stay  abroad,  the  late  meeting  of  par- 
iHwnl^^nid  the  inesent  posture  of  fore^  affairs,  taking  op  die  thoughts 
Ml  nf  ministrrs  and  paiiiammity  have  postponed  the  settling  of  certain 
teds  m  St  Christopher's  on  our  College,  so  as  to  ren(kr  the  said- 
AiM|^  aboKtive;  I  have  now  my  hands  full  of  that  business,  and  hope 
to  see  it  soon  settled  to  my  wish.  In  the  mean  time,  my  attendance  on 
iiis  business  renders  it  impossiUe  for  me  to  mind  my  private  affairs. 
Tour  assistance  therefore,  in  them,  will  not  only  be  a  kind  service  to  me» 
iwtalsototfaepiiUic  weal  of  oar  College;  which  woukl  very  mudi  suffer 
if  1  were  ob^ed  to  leave  this  kingdom  before  I  saw  an  endowmaH 
9el4ed  00  it  Fgr  this  reascm  I  must  depend  upon  you.  So  hoping  to 
kar  fiom  you  npmi  diis  article  by  the  first  post,  I  conclude,  dear  Tom; 

GEOiL  BERKELEY. 
Zmtdm,  March  15,  1735-6. 

I  need  not  td  you  the  time  for  setting  my  Deanery  to  farm  is  now  sq 
Bi|^  that  it  is  necessary  something  be  done  out  of  hand. 


Dear  Tom, 

Last  Saturday  I  sent  you  the  instrument  impowering  you  to  set  my 

Deanery.    It  is  at  present  my  opinion  that  matter  had  better  be  deferred 

tin  the  Charter  of  St.  Paul's  College  hath  got  through  the  House  of 

Commons,  who  are  now  considering  it.     In  ten  days  at  farthest  I  hope 

to  let  you  know  the  event  hereof;  which,  as  it  possibly  may  affect  some 

drcumstance  in  the  farming  my  said  Deaner}%  is  the  occasion  of  giving 

jFou  this  trouble  for  the  present,  when  I  am  in  the  greatest  hurry  of 

business  I  ever  knew  in  my  life ;  and  have  only  time  to  add  that  I  am 

yooTB, 

G.  B. 
April  19,  1726. 


Dear  Tom, 

Aftmb  six  weeks'  struggle  against  an  earnest  opposition  from  different 
interests  and  motives,  I  have  yesterday  carried  my  point  just  as  I  desired 
in  the  House  of  Commons,  by  an  extraordinary  majority,  none  having 
the  confidence  to  speak  against  it,  and  not  above  two  giving  their  nega* 
live;  which  was  done  in  so  low  a  voice  as  if  they  themselves  were 
ashamed  of  it     They  were  both  considerable  men  in  stocks,  in  trade. 


126  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkel^.  [ch. 

and  in  the  city :  and  in  truth  I  have  had  more  opposition  from  that  sort 
of  men,  and  from  the  governors  and  traders  to  America,  than  from  any 
others.  But,  God  be  praised,  there  is  an  end  of  all  their  narrow  and 
mercantile  views  and  endeavours^  as  well  as  of  the  jealousies  and  sus- 
picions of  others  (some  whereof  were  very  great  men),  who  apprehended 
this  College  may  produce  an  independency  in  America,  or  at  least  lessen 
its  dependency  upon  England. 

Now  I  must  tell  you,  that  you  have  notfiing  to  do  but  go  on  with 
fanning  my  Deanery,  &c.,  according  to  the  tenor  of  my  former  letter, 
which  I  suspended  by  a  subsequent  one  till  I  should  see  the  event  of 
yesterday.  By  this  time  you  have  received  the  letters  of  attorney  for 
Partinton's  signing,  in  which  I  presume  there  will  be.no  delay.  Dear 
Tom,  yours,  &c. 

G.  BERKELEY. 

London^  May  12,  1726. 

What  more  easy  than  to  cast  an  eye  on  the  draught  of  the  two  sisters' 
debts  as  stated  by  Clarke  ?  What  more  unaccoimtable  than  that  this  is 
not  yet  done  ? 


London^  June  9,  1726. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  AM  surprised  to  find  there  are  any  debts  left  unpaid  in  Ireland, 
having  thought  that  debt  of  Henry's  which  you  mention  long  since  dis- 
charged. I  am  sure  I  concluded  that,  with  what  money  was  left  with 
you,  and  what  I  laid  out  here  (in  discharge  of  debts  whereof  I  acquainted 
you),  my  share  of  the  remaining  Irish  debts  would  have  been  reduced  to 
nothing.  You  formerly  told  me  Marshal  did  not  keep  pace  with  me. 
I  hoped  you  would  not  think  of  paying  anything  more  until  he  had 
brought  himself  up  to  equality  with  me.  I  am  also  very  much  surprised 
at  your  proposing  to  me  to  pay  money  for  Marshal  there,  which  yott 
say  I  may  reimburse  myself  here,  when  I  already  told  you  that  I  would 
never  have  been  at  the  pains  to  administer  here,  if  the  effects  on  this 
side  the  water  were  not  allotted  to  pay  English  debts  (which  you  made 
me  believe,  in  a  former  letter,  should  be  done).  And  I  have  reason 
to  think  that,  after  the  payment  of  such  English  debts,  nothuig  will  be 
left  of  these  effects  wherewith  to  reimburse  myself  any  payment  yon 
shall  make  for  Marshal  out  of  my  money  there.  To  your  quesdoi^ 
therefore,  whether  you  shall  make  such  payment  ?  I  do  answer  in  the 
negative.  I  am  at  a  loss  to  explain  what  you  mean  by  promising  to 
try  to  state  the  English  debts  from  the  materials  you  have  before  you. 


"I 


Letters  front  England. 


I  ask  two  distinct  questions  :  lat,  Is  iliere  noi  among  Mrs.  V.  Homrigh's 
papcn  a  cualogue  of  Iter  debts  clearEy  stated,  as  I  am  told  by  Mr. 
Guke  ?  sndly,  Why  have  I  not  a  copy  of  such  catalogue  transmitted  to 
le?  Had  I  foresceo  the  difficulties  I  am  reduced  to  for  want  of  it, 
woald  have  cast  my  eye  on  the  papers  myself,  and  have  known  what 
■be  debts  were  before  I  left  Ireland ;  but  I  left  that  matter  wholly  to  you. 
Ton  still  do  not  slick  to  tell  me  that  Marshal  will  do  nothing;  nay 
(which  is  worse),  that  he  will  not  allow  any  English  debts  at  all,  without 
g  mc  one  of  his  reasons.  You  (for  example)  averred  10  me  in 
iTcbnd,  thai  Mrs.  Perkins's  appeared  a  just  demand  from  Mrs.  V,  Hom- 
(  own  papers;  and  I  have  seen  here  a  note  of  Mrs.  Esther  V. 
HoBuigh,  the  younger,  to  Mr.  Tooke,  for  fifty  pounds,  together  with 
■Dierest  of  five  per  cent.  Now  I  would  fain  know  why  are  not  these 
debis  lO  he  paid  and  acknowledged  as  well  as  those  in  Ireland  f  More- 
wvi,  1  would  fain  know  why  book  debts  should  not  be  paid  here  as  well 
in  Ireland  ?  In  a  word,  why  in  any  case  a  difference  sliould  be  made 
between  English  and  Irish  debts  ?  I  grant  we  should  distinguish  between 
it  mother's  and  the  daughter's  debts ;  and  it  was  to  make  this  dia- 
linclion  that  I  so  often  (to  no  purpose)  dunn'd  you  for  a  catalogue 
of  ihc  daugliter's  debts,  drawn  up  by  her  order,  in  Clarke's  hand.  But 
I  find  it  ia  to  no  purpose  to  write ;  I  long  to  talk  to  you  by  word  of 
mouth,  cither  there  or  here. 

Prajf  let  mc  know  next  post  when  you  design  coming  for  England,  for 
I  would  go  over  to  Derbyshire  to  meet  you,  in  case  you  do  not  come 
Id  London.  On  the  other  hand,  I  am  ver}-  loath  to  be  dragged  to  Ire- 
land befofe  the  grant  to  our  College  is  settled  and  perfected.  I  write  in 
greit  hurry ;  but  before  I  conclude  must  tell  you,  that  the  Dean  of 
Kipboe"  Imh  informed  me  of  his  desire  to  live  in  Derry  :  now  I  had 
wber  he  should  live  in  my  house  for  nothing  than  a  stranger  for  a 
pikiy  reot  It  is  therefore  my  desire,  that  a  stop  may  be  put  to  any 
dupositioa  thereof  till  such  time  as  the  Dean  can  hear  whether  a  house 
fac  (puraoant  to  hb  order)  already  taken  for  him  in  Deny. 

Dtar  Tom.  write  me  something  satisfaaory  about  the  debts  by  next 
post,  or  send  me  a  flat  denial,  that  I  may  no  longer  expect  it.  Last 
ammn  you  promised  me  a  full  state  of  my  whole  accounts,  what  hath 
been  received  and  what  disbursed ;  having  not  received  it,  I  must  now 
pot  you  in  mind  ag^n  of  it.  In  my  last  I  desired  that  my  money  for 
fix  lui  year  of  the  Deanery  be  put  in  the  hands  of  Swifl  and  Company, 
I  iBi,  t-ours, 

G.  BERKELEY. 


.7,S).,flcTW.r, 


hopofFtr. 


128  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 


London^  June  14,  1726. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  RECEIVED  Mrs.  M'Manus's  account,  in  which  there  are  certain  artides 
that  I  cannot  approve  of.  First,  The  ferry**  Mr.  M'Manus  himself  told 
me  I  should  not  pay ;  that  charge  having  been  for  the  late  Dean's  house- 
hold, and  the  curates'  passage  when  they  were  to  preach  his  turns.  But 
as  I  have  no  household  there,  and  as  I  have  otherwise  provided  for 
having  my  tiuns  preached,  there  is  no  colour  or  occasion  for  my  paying 
it;  and  I  am  the  more  surprised  at  his  charging  it,  because  it  was 
against  his  own  positive  opinion  as  well  as  my  orders.  Secondly,  I  do 
not  see  why  the  repairing  of  the  church  windows  should  be  charged  to 
me.  Thirdly,  I  should  have  been  acquainted  with  the  paving  of  the 
street,  or  any  such  matters,  before  he  had  laid  out  money  on  them. 
Fourthly,  I  know  not  what  those  charges  are  which  Mr.  Maccasland  is 
said  to  be  at  for  schoolmasters.  I  write  not  this  as  if  I  valued  either 
repairing  the  church  windows  or  allowing  somewhat  to  schoolmasterSk 
provided  those  things  had  been  represented  to  me  for  my  consent ;  but 
to  be  taxed  without  my  knowledge  is  what  I  do  not  understand.  It  is 
my  duty  not  to  suffer  the  Dean  to  be  taxed  at  will,  nor  to  connive  at  the 
introducing  new  precedents  to  the  wrong  of  my  successors.  To  be 
plain,  Mr.  M'Manus  being  desired  by  me  to  make  a  list  of  such  constant 
charges  as  the  Dean  should  be  at,  I  subscribed  and  warranted  him  to 
pay  the  same.  Since  that  time,  by  letter  to  him,  I  made  some  addition 
to  the  charity  children;  but  what  is  not  warranted  by  that  list,  or  by 
some  subsequent  order  or  warrant  of  mine,  should  not  be  allowed  by  me. 
However,  for  what  is  in  the  account  you  have  sent  me,  I  refer  mjrself  to 
you  ;  only  must  beg  you  to  signify  to  them  that  I  shall  never  allow  any- 
thing for  the  time  to  come  but  what  I  am  apprised  of,  and  consent  to 
beforehand.  So  that  no  vouchers  will  do  (without  an  order  under  my 
own  hand)  for  expenses  not  included  in  the  list  made  by  Mr.  M'Manus, 
and  approved  by  me  at  Derry.  This  I  believe  you  will  think  a  reason- 
able precaution,  in  order  to  prevent  myself  or  successors  being  im* 
posed  on. 

I  am  of  opinion  that  you  should  immediately  write  to  Messrs.  Wogan 
and  Aspinwall,  directing  and  impowering  them  to  sell  whenever,  from 
the  circumstance  of  affairs,  we  shall  think  it  proper  so  to  do.  Sudden 
occasions  happen  which  will  not  allow  waiting  for  orders  from  Ireland. 
We  have  already  been  great  losers  by  that,  which  I  very  well  foreknew 

^  For  the  *  ferry ,*  cf.  p.  loi. 


IV.]  Letters  from  England.  129 

here,  though  you  knew  nothing  of  it  there ;  though  by  this  time  you  are 
convinced  the  information  I  sent  you  last  autumn  was  true.  In  short, 
intelligence  may  be  had  here,  but  it  can  never  there,  time  enough  to  be 
of  use.    Yoors  affectionately, 

G.  B. 


Dear  Tom, 

YouBS  of  the  and  and  the  9th  of  July  are  come  to  my  hands.  What 
you  say  in  your  last  of  the  receipts  in  full,  and  the  caution  to  be  used 
thereapon,  had  occurred  to  my  own  thoughts,  and  I  acted  accordingly. 
VHth  respect  to  Mrs.  Philips  and  Mrs.  Wilton,  I  found  the  former  a 
pa^)able  cheat ;  but  the  latter  still  stands  out,  that  she  never  received,  at 
any  time,  any  of  Mrs.  Mary's  money.  I  must  therefore  desire  you  to 
look  a  second  time  on  the  receipt  you  mention  from  her  to  Mrs.  Mary  ; 
for  you  might  possibly  have  been  mistaken.  I  thought,  when  in  Ireland, 
that  you  owned  Mrs.  Parkins's  to  be  a  true  debt  Pray  give  me  your 
thoughts  particularly  upon  it  The  same  I  desire  on  the  charges  for  the 
moiber^s  funeral,  which,  if  in  right  they  are  to  be  paid  by  us,  I  cannot 
understand  what  you  mean  by  the  creditor's  abating  one  half  of  his 
demand.  I  am  glad  to  find  that  you  will  take  advice  upon  the  dubious 
debts.  Pray  do  it  soon :  and  when  that  is  done,  I  shall  hope  for  one 
list  from  you,  containing  your  own  judgment  upon  the  whole,  of  what 
debts  are  to  be  discharged  by  the  money  here.  The  exact  sum  of  the 
annuities  received  by  Messrs.  Wogan  and  Aspinwall  I  do  not  remember, 
but  it  is  about  £190.     The  next  time  I  write  you  may  know  exactly. 

I  have  considered  aboutt  he  house  ^,  and  am  come  to  this  resolution : 
If  Dr.  Ward  be  in  Dublin,  pray  give  my  service  to  him,  and  tell  him  my 
house  is  at  his  service,  upon  condition  only  that  he  keep  it  in  repair,  and 
rid  me  of  all  charges  about  it,  as  hearth-money  or  the  like.  I  had  some 
time  since  a  letter  from  him,  desiring  the  use  of  it  on  these  terms ;  but 
the  oflfer  I  had  made  the  Dean  of  Raphoe  disable^  me  for  that  time  from 
giving  him  the  answer  I  now  desire  you  to  do,  because  I  know  not  where 
to  write  to  him  myself,  he  having  been  about  to  leave  Chester  for  Ireland 
when  I  received  his  letter.  But  at  present  I  think  myself  at  liberty,  it 
being  about  six  weeks  since  the  Dean  was  with  me,  since  which  time  I 
have  not  heard  from  him,  though  I  then  desired  he  would  let  me  have 
his  answer  forthwith.  As  to  setting  it,  I  am  less  inclined  that  way, 
because  Dr.  Ward,  being  Subdean,  is  at  some  trouble  on  my  account, 

*  The  Deanery-house  at  Deny.    Cf.  notes  31,  33. 
VOL.  IV.  K 


1 30  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

and  I  would  willingly  oblige  him.  You  may  therefore  drop  it  to  him, 
that  I  prefer  his  having  it  rent-free  to  a  rent  of  twenty  pounds,  which 
you  think  I  may  get  from  another. 

As  to  the  account  you  have  sent  me  of  receipts  and  disbursements, 
I  must  observe  to  you,  with  respect  to  one  particular,  that  when  I  made 
you  a  proposal  of  being  concerned  in  the  afifairs  accruing  to  me  by  the 
death  of  Mrs.  V.  Homrigh,  the  terms  which  I  proposed,  and  you  agreed 
to,  were  these,  viz.  that  if  you  would  imdertake  the  trouble  of  settling 
that  whole  matter,  when  it  was  settled  I  should  allow  you  twelve  pence 
in  the  pound  out  of  the  profits  arising  therefrom.  I  never  dedgned, 
therefore,  nor  promised  to  allow  any  thing,  till  the  whole  was  settfed; 
nor  was  it  reasonable,  or  indeed  possible,  that  I  should :  Not  reasonable, 
because  the  main  reason  for  which  I  made  such  proposal  of  is.  per 
pound,  was  the  difficulty  of  disembrangling  our  affairs  with  Partinton; 
which  difficulty  seems  hardly  to  have  been  touched  hitherto,  at  least  I  do 
not  find  that  any  thing  to  the  purpose  hath  been  done  since  I  left 
Ireland: — Not  possible,  because,  till  the  debts  are  paid,  and  affairs 
setded  with  Partinton,  I  cannot  know  what  doth,  or  what  doth  not,  coine 
to  my  share.  It  was  my  desire  to  have  things  concluded  as  soon  as 
possible;  and  in  order  to  this,  I  expected  more  would  be  done  by  yott 
than  by  another.  I  chose  therefore  putting  my  affairs  into  your  hands 
rather  than  into  Mr.  Dexter's  or  Mr.  Donne's ;  one  of  whom,  if  you  had 
declined  it,  I  was  resolved  on.  I  was  also  willing,  for  that  end,  to  aUow 
more  than  is  commonly  allowed  to  solicitors  or  agents. 

For  these  reasons,  and  especially  because  I  shall  have,  on  many 
accounts,  pressing  occasion  for  what  money  I  can  raise  against  my 
departure  (which  I  propose  to  be  next  Spring),  I  must  desire  you  to 
desist  for  the  present  from  paying  yourself,  and  to  pay  the  whole  of  m^ 
money  into  the  hands  of  Swift  and  Company,  by  them  to  be  transmitted 
to  me  in  England  upon  demand ;  and  I  shall  leave  a  note  behind  me 
with  you,  which  shall  intitle  you  in  the  fullest  and  clearest  manner  to  the 
said  twelve  pence  in  the  pound.  I  must  desire  you  to  let  me  know 
whether  you  have  obliged  the  farmers  of  my  deanery  to  make  all  future 
payments  to  my  order  in  Dublin,  as  I  directed.  I  should  be  glad  to  see 
a  copy  of  the  articles  you  concluded  with  them,  which  you  may  send  me 
per  post.  I  am  surprised  at  what  you  tell  me  of  Mr.  Synge's  paying 
III  pounds  to  Mr.  Bindon  on  my  account,  which,  on  a  second  inquirjr, 
you  must  find  a  mistake.  I  had  received  only  one  himdred  En^gliA 
from  Mr.  Bindon,  who  (because  he  wanted  it  in  Ireland)  let  me  have  it 
on  the  same  terms  that  the  banker  was  to  supply  him  there,  by  which  I 
saved  about  30  shillings  in  the  exchange ;  and  so  I  drew  on  Mr.  Syngc 


IV.]  Letters  from  England.  131 

for  one  hundred  and  ten  pounds  odd  money,  Irish.  I  shall  hope  to 
liear  from  jou  next  post,  after  the  receipt  hereof,  and  that  you  will  then 
ten  me  your  resolution  about  coming  to  England.  For  myself,  I  can 
resolve  nothing  at  present,  when  or  whether  I  shall  see  Ireland  at  all, 
being  employed  on  much  business  here.  I  am,  dear  Tom,  your  affec- 
tionate humUe  servant, 

G.  BERKELEY. 
Lomdom^Jufy  19,  1726. 

I  have  heard  from  Mr.  AfManus;  and  by  this  post  have  wrote  an 
answer,  insisting  that  I  will  not  allow  any  thing  for  the  ferry,  it  being  a 
gross  imposition,  and  contrary  both  to  his  own  advice  and  my  express 
orders. 


Dear  Tom, 

The  stocks  being  higher  than  they  have  been  for  this  long  time,  and, 
as  I  am  informed,  not  likely  to  rise  higher,  I  have  consented  to  their 
being  sold,  and  have  directed  Messrs.  Wogan  and  Aspinwall  to  write  you 
vord  thereof  as  soon  as  they  are  disposed  of,  with  an  account  of  their 
amounts.  I  hoped  you  would  have  sent  me  a  copy  of  the  articles  for 
farming  my  deanery,  that  I  may  see  whether  tliey  are  according  to  my 
mind ;  particularly  whether  the  money  is  made  payable  to  my  order  in 
Dublin,  as  I  directed,  for  special  reasons.  I  likewise  expected  a  copy 
of  the  last  balance,  the  deductions  being  larger  than  I  can  account  for. 
1  have  spoke  with  Mr.  Binden,  who  tells  me  he  received  within  a  trifle, 
mider  or  over,  one  hundred  and  eleven  pounds  from  Ned  Synge.  I  have 
wrote  to  Ned  Synge  to  let  him  know  his  mistake.  I  have  also  wrote  to 
him  and  Mr.  Norman  to  pay  the  money  in  their  hands  to  Swift  and 
Company,  in  order  to  have  it  transmitted  hither. 

I  desire  to  know  whether  you  come  to  England,  at  what  time,  and  to 
irhai  place,  that  I  may  contrive  to  see  you,  for  I  may  chance  not  to  be 
in  London,  designing  to  pass  some  time  in  the  country  ^ ;  but  I  would 
steer  my  course  so  as  to  be  in  yoiu  way  in  case  you  came  on  this  side 
fe  water. 

Mrs.  Wilton  persists  that  she  never  gave  a  receipt  to  Mrs.  Mary.  I 
nmst  therefore  desire  you  to  send  me  her  receipt  inclosed  in  your  next. 
As  to  Mr.  Tooke's  bond  or  note,  you  desire  to  know  whether  it  be 
*aJed;  which  particular  I  do  not  remember:  but  I  remember  that  it 

^  Another  of  his  rural  excursions  in  England. 

A'  2 


132  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

mentions  interest ;  and  I  desire  to  know  whether,  in  point  of  right,  such 
interest  should  not  be  paid ;  and  whether  it  would  not  seem  odd  to  pro- 
pose defalcating  any  part  of  a  man's  right  for  want  of  form,  when  it 
plainly  appeared  to  be  intended  ?  In  short,  I  would  know  upon  what 
principles  you  proceed,  when  you  say  he  may  be  contented  with  no 
interest,  or  with  half  interest.  By  this  post  I  suppose  you  will  receive 
from  Mr.  Aspinwall  an  account  of  the  sum-total  of  the  transfer,  &c.  I 
am  plagued  with  duns,  and  tired  with  put-offs,  and  therefore  long  to  see 
it  applied  to  pay  them  :  but,  in  order  to  this,  must  desire  you  to  send  me 
two  distinct  lists,  one  of  the  undoubted  legal  demands,  another  of  the 
equitable,  that  so  I  may  have  your  opinion,  in  distinct  terms,  of  what 
should  be  paid  in  law,  and  what  in  conscience.  This  was  not  answered 
by  your  last  letter's  observations,  which  nevertheless  show  you  may 
easily  do  it ;  and  it  is  no  more  than  what  you  had  promised  to  do  before. 
I  shall  therefore  expect  such  lists  from  you  in  a  post  or  two.  I  am,  dear 
Tom,  your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

G.  BERKELEY. 
London^  Aug,  4,  1726. 

You  mentioned  a  friend  of  Synge's  who  was  desirous  to  be  one  of 
our  Fellows.  Pray  let  me  know  who  he  is,  and  the  particulars  of  his 
character.  There  are  many  competitors ;  more  than  vacancies ;  and  the 
fellowships  are  likely  to  be  very  good  ones :  so  I  would  willingly  see 
them  well  bestowed. 


Dear  Tom, 

It  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  heard  from  you,  and  am  willing  to  sup* 
pose  that  some  of  your  letters  are  miscarried.  I  have  quitted  my  old 
lodging,  and  desire  you  to  direct  yom-  letters  to  be  left  for  me  with  Mr. 
Smibert*^,  painter,  next  door  to  the  King's  Arms  tavern,  in  the  little  piasa, 
Covent  Gorden. 

I  desired  a  copy  of  the  articles  concluded  on  with  the  farmers  of  mjr 
deanery.  I  likewise  desired  the  receipt  of  Mrs.  Wilton,  and  the  particular 
catalogues  of  the  debts,  in  the  manner  you  promised.  I  must  now  re- 
peat the  same  desires.  As  for  the  articles  and  bonds,  I  have  thought 
proper  to  lodge  them  with  Mr.  Synge,  who  hath  a  fixed  abode  in  town, 
and  will  take  care  to  place  them  securely  among  his  own  papers.  You 
will  therefore  deliver  them  to  him.  As  I  have  occasion  for  my  money 
to  be  gathered  in  and  placed  with  Mr.  Swift  and  Company,  in  order  to 

"  This  is  the  first  mention  of  Smibert  the       1 725,  now  in  the  possetiion  of  the  Re?.  Dr* 
artist.     He  made  a  portrait  of  Berkeley  in       Irons  of  Brompton. 


IV.]  LeiUrs  /ram  England.  1 33 

ke  ininMiittfd  hUier,  I  have  wrote  lo  M'Manus  and  Ililr.  Nonnan;  to 

Ike  fisBBMr,  to  send  me  the  balance  of  aocoimts  for  last  jear ;  to  the 

iMer,  to  pttf  Ae  tooosf  joa  toU  me  lay  in  his  hands  to  Swift  and  Com- 

fUBPfz  but  hitheito  I  do  not  find  eidier  dooe,    Mr.  Aspinwall  hath  some 

infofmed  yon  that  the  total  of  the  effects  transferred  by  him 

fo  cjg^  himdred  and  forty  pounds  odd  money,  out  of  which 

aie  to  be  dedhicted    Ete  hath  shewed  me  the  bill  of  these  in 

SDelOfir  Commoitt,  which  amount  to  about  fourteen  pounds.    Some 

odbor  money  kid  out  by  him,  together  widi  the  fees  for  his  own  trouble, 

Iksie  not  yet  seen  the  account  of.    I  think  you  had  better  write  to  him 

If  dm  nest  post  to  trai»niit  the  third  part  of  the  overplus  sum  to  Swift 

md  Comptaaj,  for  the  use  of  Partinton  Van  Homrigh ;  who,  when  he 

kadi  got  his  share  remitted,  can  have  nothing  to  complain  of;  and,  as 

|cm  have  failherto  treated  in  his  behalf  with  Messrs.  Wogan  and  Aspin- 

wiH,  your  <»der8  will  be  followed  therein  by  them  more  properly  Uian 

mne.    I  bad  almost  forgot  to  repeat  to  you,  that  I  want  to  know  what 

leason  there  is  for  disputing  any  part  of  the  interest  on  the  note  to 

Mr.  TocAe,  whether  it  be  sealed  or  na 

Let  me  know  in  your  next  what  you  resolve  about  coming  to  England, 

md  when.    I  shall  trouUe  you  with  no  more  at  present,  from,  dear  Tom, 

jonrs  affectionately, 

G.  BERKELEY. 

Limdan,  August  24,  1726. 


Dear  Tom, 

I  RECETVED  youfs;  and  accordingly  went  to  Messrs.  Wogan  and 
Aspinwall,  who  promised  to  transmit  the  money  drawn  for  by  Partinton, 
which  I  suppose  is  due.  I  desired  them  to  let  me  have  their  bill  of 
diarges ;  which  they  also  promised  against  the  next  time  I  saw  them. 

As  for  the  clamour  of  the  people  of  Deny,  I  have  not,  nor  ever  shall 
have,  the  least  regard  for  it,  so  long  as  I  know  it  to  be  unjust  and 
groandless :  it  being  so  false  to  suggest  that  I  am  for  allowing  less  than 
my  predecessors,  that  I  am  now  actually  at  seventy-six  pound  per  annum 
constant  expence  more  than  any  of  them  ever  were,  having  just  now 
(firected  Dr.  Ward  to  provide  a  new  curate  for  Coll.  Sampson's  island, 
aod  having  formerly  appointed  another  additional  curate  in  Derry  to 
ixreach  my  turns,  as  likewise  having  added  to  the  number  of  charity 
chfldren,  which  are  annual  expences,  not  to  mention  repairing  the 
chancel,  &c.;  nothing  of  which  kind  I  ever  was  against.  I  did  not 
indeed  like  (nor  would  any  man  in  his  senses)  that  people  should  make 


1 34  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

articles  of  expence  without  argnainfrng  me,  or  dispose  of  my  money 
(though  it  were  to  good  uses)  withoot  mj  consent  previously  obtained 
But  all  this  while  I  have  gainsaid  nothing  but  the  ferry,  and  that  for 
reasons  I  formerly  gave  you ;  not  that  I  valued  the  expence,  which  was 
a  trifle,  but  that  I  would  not  be  imposed  on  myself,  nor  entail  an  impo- 
sition on  my  successor :  for  there  is  no  man  so  unknowing  or  negligent 
in  affairs  as  not  to  be  sensible  that  little  impositions  lead  to  great  ones. 
But  as  to  that  matter,  M'Manus  having  informed  me  that  Dr.  Ward  had 
engaged  I  would  pay  the  ferry-money,  I  have  wrote  to  Dr.  Ward  to 
know  the  truth  of  that,  and  his  judgment  whether  the  same  should  be 
continued,  being  resolved  to  comply  therewith.  As  to  what  you  write 
about  my  making  a  difficulty  of  leaving  58  pounds  in  M'Manus's  hands 
for  the  curates,  it  is  a  mistake.  The  sum  charged  in  his  account  is 
about  140  pounds,  not  for  charges  paid,  but  to  be  paid ;  and  not  only  to 
curates,  but  for  several  other  purposes.  I  never  meant  but  the  curates 
should  be  punctually  paid ;  nobody  need  be  at  any  pain  about  that :  bat 
.1  thought,  as  they  were  paid  the  first  year  (when  the  fanners  had  no 
money  of  mine  in  their  hands),  so  they  might  have  been  paid  the  sub- 
sequent years  out  of  the  running  income.  I  thought  likewise,  and  stiD 
think,  that  the  rents  of  the  glebe,  and  the  dues  formerly  farmed  to  Ae 
clerk,  are  sufficient  to  make  the  November  payment,  without  M'Manus's 
advancing  one  penny,  and  without  his  retaining  my  income  of  the  pre- 
ceding year,  especially  when  the  tithes  of  the  current  become  pajraUe  a 
little  after.  As  my  money  is  not  at  interest,  it  is  much  the  same  whether 
these  payments  be  stopt  now  or  next  January;  but  it  was  necessaiy 
to  observe  what  I  thought  wrong,  to  prevent  people's  growing  upon  me. 
I  still  want  the  lists  you  promised  me  of  the  debts  (legal  and  equitable), 
in  order  to  make  the  payments,  that  the  business  on  this  side  the  water 
(which  hath  already  cost  me  much  trouble)  may  be  at  length  dispatched. 
In  your  next,  I  desire  to  be  informed  what  the  mistake  is  which  700 
observe  in  M'Manus's  account,  and  likewise  what  you  say  to  his  telling 
me  there  were  no  deductions  made  from  the  650  poimds  of  Coll.  Mac- 
casland's  moiety,  as  I  observed  to  you  already  in  my  last 

As  to  what  you  say  of  matrimony,  I  can  only  answer,  that  as  I  have 
been  often  married  by  others,  so  I  assure  you  I  have  never  married 
myself.    I  am,  dear  Tom,  your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

G.  BERKELEY. 

London,  Sept,  13,  1726. 

Before  you  went  to  the  country,  you  told  me  about  eight  hundred 
pounds  of  the  last  year's  income  would  be  paid  to  Swift,  &c.   I  desire  to 


Letters  from  England. 


r  it  be  so,  or  what  it  is.      In  my  last  1  sent  you  what 
]  ID  M'Manus's  ktter  to  me ;  but  you  are  of  opinion  he  mistook 
judkc 


Dear  Tom, 

1  KATE  recdved  your  letter,  and  write  you  this  in  haste.  I  am  much 
ppontmed  by  the  creditors,  and  at  a  loss  how  to  deal  with  them.     Why 

wold  oot  Comyng's  debt  for  the  funeral  be  wholly  paid  f    I  have  seen 

letter  under  Mrs.  Esther's  hand  promising  to  pay  it :  this  was  wrote  to 
■Be  Lancaster.  What  you  say  of  paying  half  of  this  and  other  debts  I 
feannoi  comprehend:  Either  they  are  due  and  should  be  all  paid,  or  not 

le  and  none  paid.     I  have  seen  a  promissory  note  of  Mrs.  Esther's  to 

rs.  Hill,  whereof  1  send  you  subjoined  a  copy.  Let  me  know  your 
HfHliion,  and  take  advice  of  others  on  the  nature  of  a  note  so  worded ; 
wbclher  it  obtigcth  absolutely,  or  only  as  far  as  the  mother's  assets 
go.  What  shall  I  do  with  Mr.  Fisher,  who  claims  twenty-three 
odd  money  from  Mrs.  Mary,  and  about  six  pounds  for  Mrs. 
Enfaer,  all  for  goods  delivered  since  the  mother's  death.  K  day  or  two 
More  I  received  your  letter,  I  had  paid  three  pound  odd  money  to 

Irs.  Wilton,  being  no  longer  able  to  withstand  her  importunity,  and 
lespairiog  of  seeing  her  receipt.  The  truth  is,  she  showed  me  a  letter 
several  months  after  the  date  of  that  receipt  from  Mrs.  Mary, 
Icknowlcdging  herself  indebted,  but  mentioning  no  sum.  I  therefore 
fiid  that  bill,  which  was  dated  after  the  day  of  clearing,  and  no  more. 
What  musi  be  done  with  Farmer.'  and,  above  ail,  what  must  be  done 
«itb  the  milliner  Mrs.  Du  Puis  or  Du  Pee  ?  I  before  mentioned  her  to 
yxa :  She  gives  me  great  trouble.  It  would  be  endless  to  go  through  all. 
1  desire  a  word  in  particular  to  each  of  these.  To  put  them  off  till  your 
in  the  spring,  is  utterly  impracticable ;  they  having  been  amused 
Kith  hopes  of  seeing  you  all  last  siunmcr :  and  it  being  rumoured  that  I 
intend  to  leave  Europe  next  spring,  what  would  such  a  put-off  look  like. 
In  the  account  of  demands  you  formerly  sent  roe,  you,  or  rather  in  your 
BMes  upon  the  demands,  you  often  mentioned  Mr.  Clarke's  catalogue, 
VtthoDt  signifying  what  catalogue  that  is,  whether  one  sent  from  hence, 
wrote  there  for  the  use  of  Mrs.  Esther,  or  Mrs.  Mary  in  her  life- 
tiiDe.  If  the  latter,  pray  let  me  know  it ;  such  a  catalogue  would  be  of 
|rcat  asc  to  prevent  impositions.  I  should  be  glad  of  a  copy  of  it  You 
Jbaave  il  differs  frequently  from  accounts  sent  from  hence ;  for  instance, 

contains  about  half  of  Fisher's  demand  from  Mrs.  Mary,  if  I  take  you 


136  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch, 

right  It  should  follow  therefore,  that  Fisher  should  be  paid,  at  least  so 
much — should  it  not  ?  Send  a  copy  of  that  catalogue,  with  the  time 
when  it  was  drawn  up.  You  often  mention  an  act  of  Parliament  to  pre- 
vent frauds,  which  you  say  makes  for  us.  Pray  send  me  a  distinct 
abstract  of  that  act,  or  at  least  of  the  substance  and  purport  of  it  The 
note  shewed  me  by  Mrs.  Hill  is  in  the  following  words : 

*  LondoHy  January  28,  17 13-14. — I  Esther  Van  Homrigh,  junior,  do 
promise  to  pay  to  Katharine  Hill  the  sum  of  thirty-three  pounds  eleven 
shillings  and  sixpence,  on  the  28th  day  of  April  next,  for  my  mother 
Mrs.  Esther  Van  Homrigh,  being  her  sole  executrix,  as  witness  my 
hand, 

Witneiief  present  E.  VaN.   HoXBIOH. 

Wm.  BrunUy. 
Anne  Kindon! 

I  desire  you  will  give  me  your  opinion  clearly  upon  this  note.  I  like- 
wise desire  you  to  satisfy  me  in  these  three  points;  u/,  Whether 
Mrs.  Mary  was  minor  during  the  whole  time  of  her  living  with  her 
mother?  2dlyy  Whether  the  mother  died  indebted  to  Mrs.  Mary,  or  had 
spent  part  of  her  fortune  ?  ^dly^  Whether  the  things  which  Mrs.  Maiy 
had  during  her  minority  were  charged  by  the  mother,  and  the  modier 
satisfied  for  the  same  ? 

I  entreat  you  satisfy  me  instantly  as  to  the  points  contained  in  this 

letter ;  after  which,  I  shall  speedily  expect  an  answer  to  the  matters  in 

my  former  letters,  which  now  I  have  not  time  to  repeat,  or  say  any  more 

but  that  I  am,  dear  Tom,  yours  affectionately, 

G.  BERKELEY. 
London,  Nov,  5,  1726. 


Dear  Tom, 

I  HAVE  wrote  to  you  often  for  certain  eclaircissements  which  are  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  settle  matters  with  the  creditors,  who  importune  me 
to  death.  You  have  no  notion  of  the  misery  I  have  undergone,  and  ^ 
daily  undergo,  on  that  account.  I  do  therefore  earnestly  entreat  you  to 
answer  all  that  I  have  queried  on  that  head  without  delay,  and  at  the 
same  time  resolve  me  in  what  follows. 

Havejyou  any  letter  or  entry  that  takes  notice  of  Mr.  Collins  as  ft 
creditor  to  Mrs.  Esther,  junior  ?  He  hath  produced  to  me  two  notes 
of  hers,  one  for  ten,  the  other  for  four  pound  odd  money.  Mrs. 
Farmer  demands,  for  hosiers  goods,  near  six  pound  from  Mrs.  Mary, 
and  one  pound  nineteen  from  Mrs.  Esther.   I  have  seen  her  books, 


i?.J  LMmrs  fr$m  Em^amd.  137 

ttd  fef^dbm  it  aipiBm  laturthing  k  dne;  tat  in  some  phoes  it  looks 
m  if  dKf  had  tmafaBPed  Ae  motfao's  ddHs  to  the  dasf^mer.  Fh^ 
MIbk  dhtiadly  Mid  imdligibl^  iriat  afipeani  to  joa  fiomthe  iMqien 
of  Ait.  Yoa  ksie  told  me  diat  dii%  nidi  vosusf  cdntx  dfnumda^ 
ut  calf  die  monhtfn  ddns.  Piqr  tdl  me  widial  jour  leaaons  far 
AtB,  tint  die  cieditois  diemacho  mi^  be  satisfied  lieieo^  far  dief 
ail  aot  take  jour  woid  or  miiie  far  it  F^irsi,  Let  me  know  iriiat 
ippeaia  to  jfon  to  have  been  si^died  bf  eadi  cndaux  for  lbs.  Msrfu 
SML  ad|^.  Let  me  know  uptm  iriiat  groonds  yon  ooiiceive  dat  and  no 
BHie  to  liave  been  so  si^Iiiied.  3^,  Be  distinct  in  giving  jonropinkMi, 
aiiedier  a  nunor  be  not  diaigeable  ibr  eatables  and  weuables  siq^&d 
OB  dK  cndSt  of  anodiery  or  on  dieir  own  atdaut,  dnring  die  minontf  ? 
Windier  It  mppean  diat  Mis.  Maiy  was  ever  diaiged  bj  lier  motber  for 
dioae  tlunga?  Zot 4^,  Let  me  know  iriiat  yon  dimk  was  disdnc^  siqp- 
pied  far  Ifas.  Mai/s  nse^  used  by  her»  and  never  paid  for;  it  being-mj 
Dpiaioa  socfa  ddCs  dioald  be  disdiaiged  mforo  camtdenikB^  dxra^  per- 
ho^  die  law  might  not  leqoixe  it,  on  scoreofmniorityorlengdioftime. 
For  GodTs  sake  dtsendvangle  these  matters^  dat  I  may  <mce  be  at 

erne  fo  mind  my  odier  affiurs  of  the  Collqpe,  wfaidi  are  enoi^  10  en^lojr 
tan  penoii&    Ton  promised  a  &dnct  trqpaitite  fist,  wludi  I  never  got 
The  observadons  jou  have  sent  are  all  of  them  either  so  ambiguons  and 
indecisive  as  to  puzzle  only,  or  else  precarious ;  that  is,  unsupported  by 
reasons  to  convince  me  or  others.     Now,  I  suppose  where  you  give  a 
]X)5itive  opinion  you  have  reasons  for  it ;  and  it  would  have  been  right 
to  have  sent  these  reasons  distinctly  and  particularly.     I  will  not  repeat 
what  I  have  said  in  my  former  letters,  but  hope  for  your  answer  to  all 
the  points  contained  in  them,  and  immediately  to  what  relates  to  dis- 
patching the  creditors.     I  propose  to  make  a  purchase  of  land  (which  is 
very  dear)  in  Bermuda,  upon  my  first  going  thither ;  for  which,  and  for 
other  occasions,  I  shall  want  all  the  money  I  can  possibly  raise  against 
mj  voyage.     For  this  purpose,  it  would  be  a  mighty  service  to  me  if  the 
affair  with  Partinton  were  adjusted  this  winter,  by  reference  or  compro- 
ause.    The  state  of  all  that  business,  which  I  desired  you  to  send  me,  I 
do  now  again  earnestly  desire.    What  is  doing  or  has  been  done  in  that 
matter  ?     Can  you  contrive  no  way  for  bringing  Partinton  to  an  imme- 
diate sale  of  the  remaining  lands  ?    What  is  your  opinion  and  advice 
t^xm  the  whole  ?    What  prospect  can  I  have  if  I  leave  things  at  sixes 
and  sevens  when  I  go  to  another  world,  seeing  all  my  remonstrances, 
even  now  that  I  am  near  at  hand,  are  to  no  purpose  ?    I  know  money  is 
It  present  on  a  very  high  foot  of  exchange  :  I  shall  therefore  wait  a  little, 
n  hopes  it  may  become  lower ;  but  it  will  at  all  events  be  necessary  to 


138  Life  and  Letters  0/  Berkeley.^  [ch. 

draw  over  my  money.    I  have  spent  here  a  matter  of  six  hmidred  pounds 

more  than  you  know  of,  for  which  I  have  not  yet  drawn  over. 

As  to  what  you  write  of  Robin,  I  am  glad  to  find  that  others  think  he 

behaves  well :  I  am  best  judge  of  his  behaviour  to  me.     There  is  a 

way  of  resenting  past  favours,  and  there  is  a  way  of  asking  future  ones ; 

and  in  both  cases  a  right  and  a  wrong.    I  had  some  other  points  to 

speak  to,  but  am  cut  short,  and  have  only  time  to  add,  that  I  am  yours 

affectionately, 

G.  BERKELEY. 
London^  Nov.  12,  1726. 


December  i,  1726. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  HAVE  lately  received  several  letters  of  yours,  which  have  g^ven  me  a 
good  deal  of  light  with  respect  to  Mrs.  V.  Homrigh's  affairs ;  but  I  am 
so  much  employed  on  the  business  of  Bermuda,  that  I  have  hardly  time 
fo  mind  any  thing  else.  I  shall  nevertheless  snatch  the  present  moment 
to  write  you  short  answers  to  the  questions  you  propose. 

As  to  Bermuda,  it  is  now  on  a  better  and  surer  foot  than  ever.    After 
the  address  of  the  Commons,  and  his  Majest/s  most  gracious  answer, 
one  would  have  thought  all  difficulties  had  been  got  over:  but  much 
opposition  hath  been  since  raised  (and  that  by  very  great  men)  to  die 
design.    As  for  the  obstacles  thrown  in  my  way  by  interested  men, 
though  there  hath  been  much  of  that,  I  never  regarded  it,  no  more 
than  the  clamours  and  calumnies  of  ignorant  mistaken  people :  but  in 
good  truth  it  was  with  much  difficulty,  and  the  peculiar  blessing  of  God, 
that  the  point  was  carried  maugre  the  strong  opposition  in  the  cabinet 
council ;  wherein,  nevertheless,  it  hath  of  late  been  determined  to  go  on 
with  the  grant,  pursuant  to  the  address  of  the  House  of  Commons,  and 
to  give  it  all  possible  dispatch.    Accordingly  his  Majesty  hath  ordered 
the  warrant  for  passing  the  said  grant  to  be  drawn.     The  persons 
appointed  to  contrive  the  draught  of  the  warrant  are  the  Solicitor- 
General  **,  Baron  Scroop  of  the  Treasury,  and  (my  very  good  fnend) 
Mr.  Hutchinson  *•.    You  must  know  that  in  July  last  the  Lords  of  the 
Treasury  had  named  commissioners  for  taking  an  estimate  of  the  value 
and  quantity  of  the  Crown  lands  in  St.  Christophers,  and  for  receiving 
proposals  either  for  selling  or  farming  the  same  for  the  benefit  of  die 
public.    Their  report  is  not  yet  made ;  and  the  Treasiuy  were  of  opinion 


"  Charles  Talbot,  Lord  Chancellor  in  1 733.  Hutchinson,*  as  t  friend  of  Berkelej'ik  1 

He  was  son  of  the  Bishop  of  Durham,  and  where  in  the  Oent,  Mag,,  but  I  hare  misbid 

brother  of  Edward  Talbot,  Butler's  friend.  the  reference. 
.  "*  There  is,  I  think,  a  notice  of  'Archibald 


'•] 


Letters  from  England. 


■39 

T  ccnid  not  make  a  grant  to  us  till  such  ume  as  the  whole  were  sold 
brmed  pursuant  to  such  report     But  the  point  I  am  now  labouring 
to  ha^-e  it  done,  without  delay ;  and  how  this  may  be  done  without  em- 
ihe  Treasury  in  their  after  disposal  of  the  whole  lands  was 
day  the  subject   of  a   conference    between  the  Solicitor- General, 
■,  Hutchinson,  and  myself.    The  method  agreed  on  is  by  a  rent-charge 
the  whole  crown  lands,  redeemable  upon  the  crown's  paying  twenty 
thousand  pounds,  for  the  use  of  the  President  and  Fellows  of  St  Paul's, 
uid  their  successors.     Sir  Robert  Walpole  hath  signified  that  he  hath  no 
objection  to  this  mediod ;  and  1  doubt  not  Baron  Scroop  will  agree  to  it ; 
bjr  which  means  the  grant  may  be  passed  before  the  meeting  of  parlia- 
ment, after  which  we  may  prepare  to  set  out  on  our  voyage  in  April.     I 
have  unawares  run  into  this  long  account  because  you  desired  to  know 
how  the  afl^r  of  Bermuda  stood  at  present. 

You  also  desire  I  would  speak  to  Ned.     You  must  know  Ned  hath 

parted  from  me  ever  since  the  beginning  of  last  July.     I  allowed  him  six 

aiuUings  a  week  besides  his  annual  wages ;  and  beside  an  entire  livery,  I 

jare  him  old  clothes,  which  he  made  a  penny  of;  but  the  creature  grew 

idle  and  worthless  to  a  prodigious  degree.     He  was  almost  constantly 

out  of  the  way  ;  and  when  I  told  him  of  it  he  used  lo  give  me  warning. 

I  bore  with  this  behaviour  about  nine  months,  and  let  him  know  I  did  it 

compassion  to  him,  and  in  hopes  he  would  mend ;  but  finding  no 

of  ibis,  I  was  forced  at  last  to  discharge  him,  and  take  another, 

is  as  diligent  as  he  was  negligent.     When  he  parted  from  me,  I  paid 

between  six  and  seven  pounds  which  was  due  to  him,  and  likewise 

»ve  him  money  to  bear  his  charges  to  Ireland,  whither  he  said  he  was 

him  t'other  day  in  the  street ;  and  asking  why  he  was  not 

|one  to  Ireland  lo  his  wife  and  child,  he  made  answer  that  he  had  neither 

vife  nor  child.     He  got,  it  seems,  into  another  service  since  he  left  me, 

but  continued  only  a  fortnight  in  it.     The  fellow  is  silly  to  an  incredible 

depce,  and  spoiled  by  good  usage. 

I  shall  lake  care  the  pictures  be  sold  in  an  auction.     Mr.  Smibert, 

lom  I  know  to  be  a  very  honest,  skilful  person  in  his  profession,  will 

tee  d>cm  put  into  an  auction  at  the  proper  time,  which  he  tells  me  is  not 

I  ihc  town  fills  with  company,  about  the  meeting  of  parliament. 

As  to  Bacon,  1  know  not  what  to  do  with  him.     1  spoke  often  to 

llewrs.  Wogan  and  AspinwaU  about  bicn.     Mr.  Aspinwail  also  spoke  to 

and  threatened  him  with  bringing  the  alTatr  into  court ;  and  be  still 

iscd,  and  always  broke  his  promise.     I  always,  for  my  part,  insisted 

sbould  prosecute  him ;    and,  since  your  mentioning  him  in  your 

;rr.  lave  done  il  in  stronger  terms  than  ever,  but  to  no  purpose;  for. 


1 40  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

upon  the  whole,  I  find  they  decline  meddling  with  it  Thej  say  the 
fellow  is  a  knave,  and  skilful  in  delays  of  law  and  attorneys'  tricks, 
and  that  he  may  keep  us  employed  for  several  years ;  that  it  is  a  matter 
out  of  their  sphere ;  i  i  short,  they  do  not  care  to  be  employed  in  this 
affair.  When  I  saw  the  man,  I  did  not  like  his  looks  nor  manner,  and 
am  now  quite  at  a  loss  what  to  do  with  lum.  The  whole  expense  thej 
charge  for  management  in  South  Sea  House,  and  at  Doctors'  Commoni, 
together  with  their  own  trouble,  amounts  to  thirty-nine  pounds  ten 
shillings  and  sixpence.  I  have  bills  of  the  particulars.  Some  of  the 
creditors  I  have  paid ;  but  there  are  many  more  unpaid,  whose  demands 
I  could  not  yet  ac  just.  The  first  leisure  I  have  I  shall  try  to  do  it,  bj 
the  help  of  the  lights  I  have  now  got.  As  to  M'Manus,  I  am  content  to 
favour  him  so  far  as  to  forbear  his  pa>ing  that  part  of  my  income  on  the 
first  of  January  which  was  stipulated  to  be  then  paid;  but  then  the 
whole  must  be  paid  punctually  on  the  first  of  February.  I  say  I  shall 
have  necessary  occasion  for  the  whole  income  of  the  present  year  to  be 
paid,  without  fail,  on  the  first  of  February  next ;  and  I  wish  he  may  ha?e 
timely  notice  from  you  of  this.  I  formerly  gave  him  warning  mysdf ; 
but  since  he  has  wrote  to  you,  it  is  fit  he  know  this  answer.  My  affairs 
absolutely  require  this ;  and  I  expect  that  he  will  not,  upon  any  pretext, 
disappoint  me.  You  tell  me  what  is  to  be  done  with  Mr.  Tooke's  note, 
in  case  it  be  a  bond  in  form,  or  a  simple  promissory  note,  or  a  promis- 
sory note  with  interest  sealed ;  but  still  you  omit  what  (to  the  best  of  my 
remembrance)  is  the  true  case,  to  wit^  a  promissory  note  unsealed,  to  paj 
the  principal  with  interest.  Before  I  closed  this  letter,  the  bond  was 
brought  me,  sealed,  witnessed,  and  bearing  interest,  making,  with  the 
principal,  eighty  pound,  which  I  have  paid  this  moment ;  so  that  I  was 
mistaken  in  thinking  it  a  note,  being  a  bond  in  form.  In  your  last  but 
one,  you  sent  two  opposite  opinions  of  Howard  and  Marshal  concerning 
Mrs.  Hill's  note,  but  promised  to  give  your  own,  and  to  be  more  clear  in  the 
point  in  your  next,  which  it  seems  you  forgot  to  do.  I  have  in  a  former 
letter  desired  you  to  send  me  over  an  abstract  of  the  state  of  our  case  in 
dispute  with  Partinton,  and  a  full  accoimt  of  our  demands  upon  him. 
You  have  told  me  indeed  where  the  point  sticks  at  present;  but  yoa 
may  see  that  this  does  not  fully  answer  my  desire.  I  vi'ant  to  know  (as 
if  I  had  never  heard  anything  of  the  matter)  a  full  account  of  that  whole 
affair  stated,  what  our  demands  amount  to  in  each  particular,  and  what 
expectations  there  are  of  succeeding,  and  grounds  for  prosecuting,  the 
said  demands  respectively.  I  remember  to  have  told  you  I  could  know 
more  of  matters  here  than  perhaps  people  generally  do.  You  thought 
we  did  wrong  to  sell ;  but  the  stocks  are  fallen,  and  depend  upon  it 


IV.}  Letters  frani  England.  141 

Aqr  win  fidl  lower.    In  a  former  letter^  I  acquainted  yon  that  I  desired 
At  bonds  majr  be  lodged  witb  Ned  Synge,  who  will  call  for  them. 

YoilI8y 

G.  BERKELEY. 

la  the  writings  of  P^^  Swift^  and  Aibuthnot,  about  tiiis  time, 
ire  meet  with  occasi<xial  playful  allusions  to  Bermuda,  in  prose 
sad  Terse.  In  September,  Pope  exults  with  Swift,  that  they  may 
li?e  iHiere  they  please,  ^in  Wales,  Dublin,  or  Bermudas.'  In 
November,  Azbutibnot  refers  to  the  cry  for  war  in  London,  imx>- 
dnced  by  the  total  stoppage  of  trade,  and  proposes  to  rig  out  a 
private^  for  tiie  West  Indies.  <  Will  you  be  concerned?  We 
ipUI  build  her  at  Bermuds&s^  and  get  Mr.  Dean  Berkeley  to  be  our 
iMiiager.*  The  prc^Kxsed  ^manager'  was  as  bent  as  ever  upon  his 
enlerprise,  tiirough  all  the  discouragements  of  1797,  and  the  vexa- 
fioQs  embarrassments  of  the  Vanbomrig^  business.  George  I  died, 
md  George  n  was  proclaimed  in  June.  He  has  again  £r  smt  i  Mrv. 
But  within  a  month  he  had  a  new  Warrant  for  his  Grant,  signed 
by  the  young  Kii^  and  the  lost  ground  was  thus  recovered.  He 
was  tiien  anxious  to  visit  Dublin,  and,  for  some  inscrutable  reason, 
to  live  there,  in  the  suburbs,  in  strict  privacy,  unobserved  by  his 
old  friends.  The  following  letters  to  Prior  in  1727  tell  their  own 
story: — 

London^  Feb,  27,  1726-7. 
Dear  Tom, 

The  packets  you  speak  of  you  may  direct,  under  cover,  to  the  right 
honourable  Thomas,  Earl  of  Pomfret*®,  in  Hanover  Square ;  but  then  you 
most  take  care  that  no  one  packet  be  above  a  certain  quantity  or  weight, 
and  thereby  exceed  the  limits  of  franking:  in  which  case  the  frank  I 
know  will  not  be  regarded,  and  the  papers  may  miscarry.  What  the 
precise  limits  are  I  know  not ;  any  body  there  can  inform  you. 

I  send  you  herewith  an  account  of  our  affairs  transacted  by  Wogan 
and  Aspinwall.  You  may  observe  in  the  account  of  Mr.  Gyles  (em- 
ployed by  them)  a  half  guinea  blotted  out,  which  I  paid  separately  for 
an  extract  of  a  Will  relating  to  Bermuda,  and  which  by  mistake  was 
inserted  in  this  account,  to  which  it  had  no  relation. 

The  pictures  were  all  sold  for  forty-five  pounds,  at  an  auction  which 
was  held  last  week  in  Covent  Garden,  at  the  house  of  one  Mr.  Russel, 

*  VTith  whom  his  friend  Benson  travelled  in  Italy  some  years  before.     He  was  the  first 
Earl,  and  died  in  1 753. 


142  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

a  painter.  They  were  sold  publicly  and  £urly  among  several  other 
pictures.  The  truth  of  it  is,  that  of  late  years  the  taste  lies  so  muck 
towards  Italian  pictures,  many  of  which  are  daily  imported,  that  Dutch 
pictures  go  off  but  heavily.  Mr.  Smibert  did  not  think  they  would  have 
brought  so  much. 

I  have  taken  the  utmost  care  to  keep  myself  within  the  limits  of  your 
directions  in  the  payments  I  have  hitherto  made,  and  shall  continue  to 
act  with  the  same  caution.  Mr.  Marshal  cannot  long  more  than  I  do  to 
put  an  end  to  this  matter  of  my  administration,  which  I  was  willing  to 
have  declined,  if  he  had  thought  good  to  accept  it.  But  the  constant 
hurry  of  business  I  have  on  my  hands,  together  with  my  not  being  able 
to  find  out  some  of  the  creditors,  hath  hitherto  unavoidably  delayed  it 
However,  I  have  paid  between  two  and  three  hundred  pounds,  and  shall 
finish  all  as  soon  as  possible.  Mr.  Clarke  I  have  not  seen  this  long 
time.  I  suppose  he  is  ashamed  for  my  having  found  out  that  he  was  to 
receive  a  sum  of  money  from  Mrs.  Philips,  whose  unjust  debt  he  had 
undertaken  to  get  paid.  This,  and  his  not  giving  me  the  notice  Alder- 
man Barber  said  he  desired  him  to  give  before  the  sale  of  the  jewels, 
makes  me  think  very  indifferently  of  him.  Besides,  there  is  no  sort  of 
consistency  between  the  accounts  of  creditors,  as  given  in  by  him,  and 
their  own  demands,  which  still  strengthens  my  suspicion  of  him.  As  to 
the  sum  to  be  paid  into  Swift  and  Company,  and  the  deductions  to  be 
made  for  curates,  &c.,  I  only  desire  that  all  may  be  done  on  the  foot 
you  told  me  you  had  agreed  with  Mr.  M^Manus,  and  whereof  you  stated 
the  account  in  a  letter  I  have  by  me,  and  which  I  need  not  transcribe, 
because  I  suppose  you  remember  it.  As  to  the  sale  of  the  reversionary 
lands,  I  desire  it  may  be  done  as  soon  as  possible ;  and  not  to  stand 
out,  but  to  take  the  best  terms  you  can.  As  to  the  rest,  I  long  to  see 
it  all  finished  by  arbitration. 

My  going  to  Bermuda  I  cannot  positively  say  when  it  will  be.    I  have 

to  do  with  very  busy  people  at  a  very  busy  time.     I  hope  nevertheless  to 

have  all  that  business  completely  finished  in  a  few  weeks.    I  am,  dear 

Tom,  yours, 

G.  B. 


London^  April  ii,  1727. 
Dear  Tom, 

In  my  last  I  made  no  mention  of  any  sums  of  my  money  applied  to 
the  payment  of  debts,  or  other  purposes  conmion  to  Mr.  Marshal  and 
me,  because  I  suppose  you  have  taken  care  that  he  keep  equal  pace 
with  me  :  if  he  be  deficient,  this  is  the  only  time  to  right  mjrself.     As 


Letters  front  England. 


143 


t^M  call  dubious  dcbis,  and  ihose  which,  being  conincied  in 
her'B  Ufettme,  are  payable  by  Paninton,  I  should  be  glad  to  hear 
linioD  in  a  line  or  iwo,  since  1  am  not  allowed  to  act  otherwise 

strict  legal  justice.  Thus  much  I  think  Mr.  Marshal  and  myself 
ged  10,  vis.  to  pay  those  debts  if  nothing  be  slopt  for  them  by 
n ;  and  if  there  be,  to  advertise  the  creditors  thereof.  Since  my 
said  what  you  allowed  to  be  due  to  Mrs.  Farmer  (now  Mrs, 
For  this  and  aO  other  payments  I  have  receipts  or  notes  which 
se  bringing  with  me  to  Ireland. 
now  I  mention  my  coining  to  Ireland,  I  must  earnestly  desire 

all  means,  10  keep  this  a  secret  from  every  individual  creature, 
t  justly  say  what  time  (probably  some  time  next  month)  I  shall 
f,  or  how  long:  but  find  it  necessary  to  be  there  to  transact 

vriih  one  or  two  of  my  associates  (who  yet  I  would  not  have 
r  ray  coming  till  1  am  on  the  spot),  and,  for  several  reasons,  am 
oed  to  keep  myself  as  secret  and  concealed  as  possible  all  the 
in  in  Ireland.  In  order  to  this,  I  make  it  my  request  that  you 
'  for  me  an  entire  house,  as  neat  and  convenient  as  you  can  get, 
ere  within  a  mile  of  Dublin,  for  half  a  year.  But  what  I  prin- 
lestre  is,  that  it  be  in  no  town  or  village,  but  in  some  quiet 
[>tace,  out  of  the  way  of  roads,  or  street,  or  observation.  I  would 
liired  witli  necessary  furniture  for  kitchen,  a  couple  of  chambers, 
arlour.  At  the  same  time,  I  must  desire  you  to  hire  an  honest 
rvant,  who  can  keep  it  clean,  and  dress  a  plain  bit  of  meal :  a 
vant  I  shall  bring  with  me.  You  may  do  all  this  either  in  your 
JDC,  or  as  for  a  friend  of  yours,  one  Mr.  Brown  (for  that  is  the 
shall  assume),  and  let  me  know  it  as  soon  as  possible.  There 
end  hitle  scattered  houses  witli  gardens  about  Ciantarfe,  Rath- 

ftc.  1  remember  particularly  the  old  castle  of  Ramines,  and  a 
nte  house  upon  the  hills  by  itself,  beyond  the  Old  Men's  Hos- 
;ewise  in  the  outgoings  or  fields  about  St.  Kevin's,  &c.  In  short, 
mag  private  place  within  half  a  mile  or  a  mile  of  town.  1  would 
bii  of  a  garden  to  it,  no  matter  what  sort.     Mind  this,  and  you'll 

rclionate  humble  servant, 
G.  BERKELEY. 

arTom, 

Mm  being  as  you  say,  I  think  you  were  in  the  right  to  pay  only 
ands  to  Mr.  Marshal  at  present.  I  have  drawn  on  you  for  11 
,  which  my  B.  Robin  will  call  for. 


144  ^if^  ^^  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cel 

I  would  by  all  means  have  a  place  secured  for  me  by  the  end  of  Jime: 
it  may  be  taken  only  for  three  months.  I  hope  you  will  not  have  kft 
Ireland  before  my  arrival. 

I  take  it  for  granted  you  have  paid  what  I  directed  for  Mr.  Partinton 
Van  Homrigh's  share  of  the  pictures.  I  sent  the  answer  to  his  bill 
engrossed  by  post,  and  shall  be  glad  to  hear  you  have  got  it.  I  long  to 
hear  the  sale  of  lands  (reversionary)  perfected  to  Mr.  ConoUy. 

I  am  (God  be  praised)  very  near  concluding  the  crown  grant  to  ov 
College,  having  got  over  all  difficulties  and  obstructions,  which  were  not 
a  few.     I  conclude,  in  great  haste,  dear  Tom,  yours, 

G.  BERKELEY. 

Ltmdan^  May  20,  1727. 


Dear  Tom, 

Poor  Caldwell's  ^^  death  I  had  heard  of  two  or  three  posts  before  I 
received  your  letter.  Had  he  lived,  his  life  would  not  have  been  agree- 
able. He  was  formed  for  retreat  and  study ;  but  of  late  was  grown  fond 
of  the  world,  and  getting  into  business. 

A  house  between  Dublin  and  Drumcondra  I  can  by  no  means  approve 
of:  the  situation  is  too  public;  and  what  I  chiefly  regard  is  privacy.  I 
like  the  situation  of  Lord's  house  much  better,  and  have  only  one  ob« 
jection  to  it,  which  is  your  saying  he  intends  to.  use  some  part  of  it 
himself;  for  this  would  be  inconsistent  with  my  view  of  being  qnite 
concealed ;  and  the  more  so  because  Lord  knows  me,  which  of  all  things 
is  what  I  would  avoid.  His  house  and  price  would  suit  me.  If  }'0u  can 
get  such  another,  quite  to  myself,  snug,  private,  and  clean,  with  a  stable,  j 
I  shall  not  matter  whether  it  be  painted  or  no,  or  how  it  is  furnished, 
provided  it  be  clean  and  warm.  I  aim  at  nothing  magnificent  or  grand 
(as  you  term  it),  which  might  probably  defeat  my  purpose  of  continuing 
concealed. 

You  have  more  than  once  talked  of  coming  to  England  without 
coming:  perhaps  you  may  alter  your  mind  now  as  well  as  heretofore; 
but  you  are  best  judge  of  that.  I  desire  to  know  when  your  busines 
requires  your  being  in  England  ? — whether  you  come  to  London  ? — and 
how  long  you  propose  staying  on  this  side  of  the  water  ?  I  am  sure  it 
will  be  at  least  a  full  month  before  I  can  reach  Dublin.  If  you  come 
over  immediately,  and  make  but  a  very  short  stay,  possibly  I  might 
defer  my  going,  to  attend  you  in  your  return.  At  all  events,  I  should  be 
sorry  we  missed  of  each  other  by  setting  out  at  the  same  time,  which 
may  occasion  my  seeing  you  neither  there  nor  here. 

*'  Cf.  pp.  no,  114, 124. 


.'  L^i0r$  from  Bngkmal    '  J  45 

Tbe  bdt4iia]i  calb  for  my  letter,  so  I  shall  add  no  more  btit  thiit  I  am 

hmr  afectiooBte  Ittonble  servant, 

r  GEORGE  BERKELEY. 

Lmimtjum  \^  1727. 

Firsqr  let  me  hear  from  70U  next  post 


Dear  Tom, 

YsffiRDAT  we  had  an  account  of  King  George's  death.    This  day 
George  II  was  proclaimed.    All  the  world  here  are  in'  a  hurry,  iind 
las  much  as  ai^  body ;  our  grant  being  defeated  by  the  King's  dying 
foie  die  bnMUl  seal  was  annexed  to  it,  in  order  to  which  it  was  passing 
the  offices.    I  have  la  nur  i  hmre  again.    You  shall  hear  from 
iriien  I  know  more.    At  present  I  am  at  a  lora  what  course  to  take. 
|Nr"-^myla«,peeday.    Yoon, 
f  -  G.  B. 

Y  Lmdm^Jmu  15,  1727. 


Lmdon^Jum  27,  1727. 
Dear  Tom, 

Yestbrdat  I  received  your  letter,  containing  an  account  of  your 
design  about  coming  to  England.  In  a  former  letter,  I  gave  you  to  know 
that  my  affairs  were  ravell'd  by  the  death  of  his  Majesty.  I  am  now 
beginning  on  a  new  foot,  and  with  good  hopes  of  success.  The  warrant 
far  our  grant  had  been  signed  by  the  King,  countersigned  by  the  Lords 
of  the  Treasury,  and  passed  the  Attorney  General.  Here  it  stood  when 
the  express  came  of  the  King's  death.  A  new  warrant  is  now  preparing, 
which  must  be  signed  by  his  present  Majesty,  in  order  to  a  patent 
passing  the  broad  seal 

As  soon  as  this  affair  is  finished,  I  propose  going  to  Ireland.  I  cannot 
xirtainly  say  when  that  will  be ;  but  sure  I  am  it  will  not  be  time  enough 
to  find  you  there,  if  you  continue  your  scheme  of  coming  over  the  next 
month.  It  is  unlucky  that  we  should  both  think  of  crossing  the  sea  at 
the  same  time.  But  as  you  seem  to  talk  doubtfully  of  your  design,  I 
hope  it  may  suit  with  your  conveniency  to  alter  it ;  in  which  case  we 
may  probably  come  together  to  England. 

The  changes  of  ministry  you  talk  of  are  at  present  but  guessed  at;  a 
little  time  will  show.    Yours,  &c. 

G.  BERKELEY* 

VOL.  IV.  L 


146  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

Dear  Tom, 

This  is  to  inform  you,  that  I  have  obtained  a  new  warrant  for  a  gml^ 

signed  by  his  present  Majesty,  contrary  to  the  expectations  of  my  friendi, 

who  thought  nothing  could  be  expected  of  that  kind  in  this  great  fanny 

of  business.    As  soon  as  this  grant  (which  is  of  the  same  import  with 

that  begun  by  his  late  Majesty)  hath  passed  the  offices  and  seals,  I 

purpose  to  execute  my  design  of  going  to  Ireland.    In  case,  therefore^ 

you  continue  your  purpose  of  coming  to  £ngland  this  smnmer,  I  mmt 

desire  you  to  leave  all  papers  relating  to  my  affairs  with  Mr.  Synge'^, 

sealed  up  in  a  bag  as  things  belonging  to  me,  put  into  his  hands  for 

fear  of  accidents ;  but  to  say  nothing  to  him  of  my  going  to  Dobliii, 

which  I  would  have  by  all  means  kept  secret  from  every  one ;  my  design 

being,  in  case  I  find  you  are  absent,  to  make  my  arrival,  after  I  nn 

come,  kno^n  to  S}iige ;  to  look  into  the  papers  myself,  and  try  if  I  can 

state  matters  so  as  to  bring  them  to  a  conclusion  with  Partinton.    It 

would  assist  me  much  in  this  affair  if  you  would  do  what  I  have  long 

and  often  desired,  viz.  draw  up  a  paper  containing  an  accoont  of  mj 

demands  on  Partinton  or  others  in  virtue  of  my  executorship,  with  the 

several  reasons  supporting  the  said  demands,  and  an  account  of  the 

proceedings  thereupon  at  law ;  what  hath  been  done,  and  what  remains 

to  be  done.     I  hoped  to  have  heard  of  the  sale  of  the  reversion  by  this 

time.     Let  me  hear  by  next  post.     I  am  yours, 

G.  BERKELEY. 
London^  July  6,  1727. 

Dear  Tom, 

In  answer  to  your  last  letter,  this  is  to  let  you  know,  that  my  grant 
is  now  got  farther  than  where  it  was  at  the  time  of  the  King's  death.  I 
am  in  hopes  the  broad  seal  will  soon  be  affixed  to  it,  what  remains  to  be 
done  in  order  thereto  being  only  matter  of  form;  so  that  I  propose 
setting  out  from  hence  in  a  fortnight's  time.  When  I  set  out,  I  shaD 
write  at  the  same  time  to  tell  you  of  it. 

I  know  not  whether  I  shall  stay  longer  than  a  month  on  that  aide  of 
the  water.  I  am  sure  I  shall  not  want  the  country  lodging  (I  desired 
you  to  procure)  for  a  longer  time.  Do  not  therefore  take  it  for  more 
than  a  month,  if  that  can  be  done.  I  remember  certain  remote  subaxte 
[of  Dublin]  called  Pimlico  and  Dolphin's  Barn,  but  know  not  whereabout 
they  lie.  If  either  of  them  be  situate  in  a  private  pleasant  place,  and  airy, 
near  the  fields,  I  should  therein  like  a  first  floor  in  a  clean  house  (I  desire 

**  Probably    the    Rev.   Edward    Synge,      tuccfssively   Bi»hop  of  Cloyne,   of  Ferni» 
Chancellor  of  St.  Patrick'i.  Dublin,  afterwards      and  of  Elphin. 


W*y  LMfrs/rom  England.  147 

:po  more);  and  k  would  be  better  if  tbefe  was  a  Ut  of  a  garden  where  I 
hid  die  fiberljr  lo  walk.  This  I  mention  in  case  my  former  desire  cannot 
||> iwnin  nil  iitlji  answered  few  so  short  atime  as  a  month;  and,  if  I  may 
|i4ge  at  Ais  fislancr,,theae  places  seem  as  private  as  a  house  in  the 
pmaOMj :  for  700  must  know^  wha^  I  chiefly  aim  at  is  secrecy.  This 
jwrirm  me  uneasy  to  find  that  'ft^e  hadi  been  a  report  ^read  among 
pM  of  my  fimds  m  DnUfai  of  my  des^mng  to  go  over.  I  cannot 
iicoimt  fin*  diis,  believing,  after  the  precautions  I  had  given  you,  that 
|m  WPOidd  not  mentiqii  it  direcdjr  or  indirectly  to  amy  mortal  For  the 
(ifsenl^  I  have  no  iQore  to  add^  but  only  to  repeat  my  request  that  yon 
|i|  loiiTf  aB  piapers  rehdng  to  my  executorship  with  Mr.  Synge  sealed 
|[^ltt«lM|gy  with  directions  to  deliver  them  to  my  order.  This  I  denred 
Mb  to  perftniui  my  lasty  in  case  you,  leave  Ireland  before  I  arrive  there. 
Illridi  dben  you  Hsewise  I^ve  vi^iat  I  formerly  deared,  it  will  save  mf 
i|Mmr  tRMUe.,  .I«&9  dear  Tcm,  jour  affectionate  humble  servant^ 

f-  I  <ibserve  yon  take  no  notice  of  what  I  said  about  sSHng^ihe  rever- 
aionary  knds^  though  you  fimnei^  encouraged  me  to  think  I  should 
Itoie  lieard  of  their  being  sold  before  this  time. 

In  case  you  do  not  make  use  of  the  power  I  gave  you  by  letter  of 
attorney  to  make  sale  of  the  reversionary  lands  before  you  come  for 
England,  I  desire  you  would  leave  that  said  letter  of  attorney  among  the 
papers  with  Mr.  Synge. 

From  July  1727  till  February  J 728,  there  is  a  gap  in  the  cor- 
respondence as  it  has  descended  to  us.  It  is  not  clear  where 
Berkeley  was,  or  how  he  was  employed,  during  these  months. 
The  often  postponed  visit  to  Ireland  had  not  yet  been  made; 
America,  where  he  hoped  to  be  in  April,  was  still  in  the  distance. 
In  February  1728  he  was,  after  all,  in  London,  and  Prior  seems  to 
have  visited  him  in  the  interval.  He  hoped  to  set  out  for  Dublin 
in  March,  and  to  begin  his  missionary  voyage  over  the  Atlantic  in 
May.  These  hopes  were  not  fulfilled.  The  following  letters 
to  Prior  supply  some  curious  details,  especially  about  the  proposed 
visit  to  Dublin : — 

Dear  Tom, 

I  AGREE  that  M'Manus  should  retain  for  payment  of  the  curates  to 
the  first  of  May.  After  so  many  delays  from  Partinton,  I  was  fully  con- 
vinced the  only  way  to  sell  the  reversionary  lands  must  be  by  compelling 

L  2 


! 


I48  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 


him  to  join  in  the  sale  by  law,  or  by  making  a  separate  sale.    This  I 

proi>osed  to  you  by  word  of  mouth,  and  by  letter,  as  much  as  I  could; 

and  I  now  most  earnestly  repeat  it,  intreating  you  to  do  the  one  or  the 

other  out  of  hand  if  it  be  not  done  already,  as  I  have  hopes  it  is  bf 

what  you  say  in  your  last.     Dear  Tom,  faU  me  not  in  this  particular; 

but  by  all  means  order  matters  so  that  the  purchase-money  may  be  paid 

in  to  Swift,  &c.  on  the  first  of  April,  or  at  farthest  ten  days  after ;  wfaidi 

ten  days  I  am  willing  to  allow  to  M'Manus  as  desired.     I  need  not   j^ 

repeat  to  you  what  I  told  you  here  of  the  necessity  there  is  for  mj 

raising  all  the  money  possible  against  my  voyage,  which,  God  willing,  I 

shall  begin  in  May,  whatever  you  may  hear  suggested  to  the  contrary; 

though  you  need  not  mention  this. 

I  propose  to  set  out  for  Dublin  about  a  month  hence ;  but  of  this  y<n 

must  not  give  the  least  intimation  to  any  body.     I  beg  the  favour  of  yon 

to  look  out  at  leisure  a  convenient  lodging  for  me  in  or  about  Churdi- 

street,  or  such  other  place  as  you  shall  think  the  most  retired.     Mr.  Petit 

Rose  writes  me  from  Portarlington  about  renewing  his  lease,  which  be 

desires  I  would  empower  you  to  do.     He  mentions  a  promise  I  made 

on  the  last  renewal,  that  I  would  another  time  allow  him  one  year  gratis. 

For  my  part,  I  absolutely  deny  that  I  know  any  thing  of  any  sudi 

promise.     If  you  remember  any  thing  of  it,  pray  let  me  know;  for  if 

there  was  such  a  thing,  it  must  have  been  made  by  you,  to  whom  I 

referred  the  management  of  that  affair.    As  I  do  not  design  to  be  known 

when  I  am  in  Ireland,  I  shall  comply  with  his  desire  in  sending  jou 

a  letter  of  attorney  to  perfect  the  renewal,  agreeable  to  such  draught  as 

you  transmit  hither ;  provided  still,  that  his  proposal  (which  I  have  bjT 

this  post  directed  him  to  send  to  you)  be  approved  by  you ;  to  whom  I 

leave  it,  to  do  what  to  you  shall  seem  fair  and  reasonable  in  that  matter. 

I  am  your  affectionate  humble  servant,  \ 

GEOR.  BERKELEY. 
London,  Feb,  20,  1727 — 8. 


London,  April  6,  1728. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  HAVE  been   detained   from  my  journey  partly  in  expectation  of 
Dr.  Clayton's*^  coming,  who  was   doing  business   in  Lancashire,  and 

**  Robert  Clayton,  D.D.,  appointed  to  the  kind  and  generous  character.     This  leaned 

bishopric  of  Killala  in  January,  1730,  trans-  and  philosophic  prelate,  alleged  author  of  the 

lated  to  Cork  in  1735,  and  to  Clogher  in  Essay  on  Spirit  {ilf^o)^  died  in  1758,  on  the 

1745.     He  was  living  in  England  about  this  day  fixed  for  the  commencement  of  his  trill 

time,    having    married   a   cousin   of   Lady  on  a  charge  of  heresy. 
Sundon  in  1728.     He  was  celebrated  for  his 


J^.l  'Letters  from  Et^land^  '  349 

|Mit^  m  ieq»ect  to  the  excessive  rains.  The  Doctor  hath  been  several 
iijrs  in  town,  and  we  have  had  so  much  rain  that  f^^bably  it  will  be 
plMm  over.  J  am  therefore  daily  e^qpecting  to  set  out,  all  things  being 
pRyvided 

Now  it  is  c^  all  things  my  earnest  desire  (and  for  very  good  reasons) 
iol  to  have  it  known  that  I  am  in  Dublin.    Speak  not,  therefore,  one 
l^btde  of  it  to  any  mortal  whatsoever.    When  I  formerly  desired  you 
fe  cake  a  place  for  me  near  the  town,  you  gave  out  that  you  were  looking 
lur  a  fetired  kx^ing  for  a  friend  of  yours;  upon  which  everybody  sur- 
iolaed  me  to  be  the  person.    I  must  beg  you  not  to  act  in  the  like 
niBimer  now,  but  to  take  for  me  an  entire  house  in  your  own  name,  and 
IS  for  yourself:  for,  all  things  considered,  I  am  determined  upon  a  whole 
Imse^  widi  no  mortal  in  it  but  a  maid  of  jrour  own  putting,  who  is  to 
bok  on  hersdf  as  your  servant  Let  there  be  two  bed-chambers,  one  for 
^OD,  another  for  me;  and,  as  you  Uke,  you  may  ever  and  anon  lie  there. 
I  woaU  have  the  house,  with  necessary  furniture,  taken  by  the  month 
(or  otherwise,  as  you  can),  for  I  purpose  spying  not  beyond  that  time ; 
Bid  yet  periiaps  I  may.    Take  it  as  soon  as  possible,  and  never  think 
ofaaviog  a  week's  hire  by  leaving  it  to  do  when  I'am  there.  Dr.  Clayton 
flibks  (and  I  am  of  the  same  opinion)  that  a  convenient  place  may  be 
found  in  the  further  end  of  Great  Britain  Street,  or  BalKbough-bridge** — 
by  all  means  beyond  Thomson  s  the  Fellow's.  Let  me  entreat  you  to  say 
nothing  of  this  to  anybody,  but  to  do  the  thing  directly.    In  this  affair 
1  consider  convenience  more  than  expense,  and  would  of  all  things  (cost 
what  it  will)  have  a  proper  place  in  a  retired  situation,  where  I  may  have 
access  to  fields  and  sweet  air,  provided  against  the  moment  I  arrive.     I 
am  inclined  to  think,  one  may  be  better  concealed  in  the  outermost  skirt 
of  the  suburbs  than  in  the  country,  or  within  the  town.    Wherefore,  if 
you  cannot  be  accommodated  where  I  mention,  inquire  in  some  other 
skirt  or  remote  suburb.     A  house  quite  detached  in  the  country  I  should 
bave  no  objection  to;  provided  you  judge  that  I  shall  not  be  liable 
to  discovery  in  it     The  place  called  Bermuda  I  am  utterly  against. 
Dear  Tom,  do  this  matter  cleanly  and  cleverly,  without  waiting  for  further 
advice.    You  see  I  am  willing  to  run  the  risk  of  the  expense.     To  the 
person  from  whom  you  hire  it  (whom  alone  I  would  have  you  speak  of 
it  to)  it  will  not  seem  strange  you  should  at  this  time  of  the  year  be 
desirous,  for  your  own  convenience  or  health,  to  have  a  place  in  a  free 
and  open  air.     If  you  cannot  get  a  house  without  taking  it  for  a  longer 
time  than  a  month,  take  it  at  such  the  shortest  time  it  can  be  let  for,  with 
agreement  for  further  continuing  in  case  there  be  occasion. 

*'  In  the  N.E.  subnrbs  of  Dublin. 


»50 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[cfl. 


Mr.  Madden^,  who  witnesses  the  letter  of  attorney,  is  now  going  to 
Ireland.    He  is  a  clergyman,  and  man  of  estate  in  the  north  of  Ireland. 

I  am,  your  affectionate  hunble  servant, 

GEORGE  BERKELEY. 


From  April  till  September,  Berkeley  again  disappears.  Whether 
he  went  to  Dublin,  as  he  had  so  long  proposed,  is  doubtful.  At 
any  rate,  he  did  not  go  to  America  in  May.  In  September  we 
find  him  at  Gravesend,  married,  and  about  to  sail  for  Rhode 
Island,  with  his  wife  and  a  small  party  of  friends. 

Almost  no  particulars  about  the  marriage  are  known.  The 
•lady  was  Anne,  daughter  of  John  Forster,  who  had  been  Recorder 
of  Dublin,  Chief  Justice  of  the  Common  Pleas,  and  also  Speaker 
of  the  Irish  House  of  Commons**.  Her  uncle  was  Nichdas 
Forster,  who  in  1709  admitted  Berkeley  to  holy  orders,  and  who 
was  now  Bishop  of  Raphoe*^.  This  family  of  Forsters  had  settled 
in  Ireland  in  the  wars  of  Charles  I^  when  a  younger  son  of 
Sir  Humphrey  Forster,  Bart.,  of  Aldermaston  in  Berkshire,  who 
had  gone  to  Ireland  with  Lord  Conway  and  Sir  Thomas  Rawdon, 
was  rewarded  by  a  grant  of  the  estate  of  TuUaghan.  TTie  father 
of  Mrs.  Berkeley  is  said  to  have  been  so  devoted  to  the  House  of 
Brunswick,  that  in  Queen  Anne's  reign  he  was  a  favourite  toast 
at  Herrenhausen  \  and  her  mother,  it  seems,  was  connected  with 
Monck,  the  famous  Duke  of  Albemarle  *®. 

The  marriage,  according  to  Stock,  took  place  on  the  ist  of 
August  1728;  where  it  took  place  I  have  not  been  able  to  dis- 
cover. As  a  search  in  the  registry  at  Dublin  has  failed  to  dis- 
cover any  record  of  it,  the  ceremony  was  apparently  not  performed 
within  that  Province.  It  may  have  been  in  England,  where  mem» 
bers  of  the  Forster  family  appear  sometimes  to  have  lived. 

All  that  one  can  now  discover  of  Mrs.  Berkeley  makes  her 


*  Was  this  Dr.  Madden  afterwards  one  of 
the  founders  of  the  Dublin  Society,  and  an 
intimate  friend  of  Prior's  ? 

**  He  seems  to  have  been  Speaker  in 
1707 — 9  (sec  Gilbert's  Hiitory  of  Dublin^ 
vol.  III.  Appendix).  He  was  Chief  Justice 
in  1714—20. 

*^  Forster  was  appointed  to  the  bishopric 
of    Killala    in    1714,    and    transfened    to 


Raphoe  in  1716,  where  the  liberal  beoeftO' 
tions  of  this  excellent  prelate  are  gratefially 
remembered.  He  died  in  June  1 743.  S« 
Cotton's  Fasft',  vol.  HI.  p.  554;  also  Maot'i 
History^  vol.  II.  There  is  a  portrait  of 
him  in  the  Library  which  be  fomided  it 
Raphoe. 
^  Pre/act  to  Monek  BtrMty, 


IF.]  In  England^  and  married. 

worthy  of  her  husband.  She  shared  his  fortunes  when  be  was 
about  to  engage  in  one  of  the  most  romantic  moral  movement* 
of  modern  times,  and  when,  in  iove  with  an  ideal  academic  life  ia 
the  Bermudas,  he  was  prepared  to  surrender  preferment  and  social 
position  at  home,  in  order  to  devote  the  remainder  of  his  life  to 
the  great  Continent  of  the  West.  Report  bears  that  she  was  her- 
self of  the  school  of  the  Mystics  or  Quictists,  and  that  her  favourite 
writers  were  Fenelon,  Madame  Guyon,  and  their  English  disciple 
Hooke,  the  historian  of  Rome. 

The  following  letter  to  Prior  describes  Berkeley  and  his  parly 
on  the  eve  of  their  departure  from  England ; — 

Gravesefid,  Sept.  5,  1728. 
Dear  Tom, 

To-HOKKOw,  wiib  God's  blessing,  I  set  sail  for  Rhode  Island,  with  my 
wifc  and  a  friend  or  hers,  my  lady  Handcock's  daughter,  who  bears  i 
onnpany.     1  am  married  since  I  saw  you  to  Miss  Forster,  daughter  of 
Ibe  late  Chief  Jusiice,  whose  humour  and  turn   of  mind  pies 
beyond  any  thing  that  I  know  in  her  whole  ses.   Mr,  James.  Mr.  Dalton, 
Uk]  Mr.  Smtbert,  go  with  us  on  this  voyage.     We  are  now  all  together 
Gravesend,  and  are  engaged  in  one  view. 

When  my  next  rents  are  pwd,  I  must  desire  you  to  inquire  for  my    ! 
cousin  Richard  Berkeley",  who  was  bred  a  public  noiarj-  (I  suppose  he 
may  by  that  lime  be  out  of  his  apprenticeship),  and  give  him  twenty 
moidores  as  a  present  from  me,  towards  helping  him  on  bis  beginning 
the  world. 

1    belicte    I   shall   have   occasion   to  draw  for  six  hundred  pounds 
EngUsh  before  this  year's  income  is  paid  by  the  farmers  of  my  Deanery. 

must  therefore  desire  you  to  speak  to  Messrs.  Swift,  &c.,  to  give  me 
credit  for  said  sum  in  London  about  three  months  hence,  In  case  I  have 
occasion  to  draw  for  it ;  and  1  shall  willingly  pay  their  customary  interest 
for  the  same  till  the  farmers  pay  it  to  them,  which  I  hope  you  will  order 
{nmciually  to  be  done  by  the  first  of  June.  Give  me  advice  of  your  1 
Biiccess  in  this  affair,  via.  whether  they  will  answer  such  draught  of  mine  | 
in  London,  on  what  interest,  and  on  whom,  and  how  I  am  to  draw  ? 

Direct  for  mc  in  Rhode  Island,  and  inclose  your  letter  in  a 
Thomas  Corbet,  Esq.,  at  the  Admiralty  office  in  London,  who  will  always  I 


I 

i 


-    I  luTc  not  round  «i3aliing  about  lllil 
■bom  Bakckj't  IdDdiKU  of  hcul. 


i 


152  Li/e  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [dL* 

forward  my  letters  by  the  first  opportunity.     Adieu.     I  write  in  grent 
haste,  yours, 

G.  B. 

I  wrote  by  this  post  to  M'Manus  to  comply  with  all  the  p<Mnts  pro- 
posed in  Dr.  Ward's  memorial.  A  copy  of  my  Charter  was  sent  to 
Dr.  Ward  by  Dr.  Clayton.  If  it  be  not  arrived  when  you  go  to  London,* 
write  out  of  the  Charter  the  clause  relating  to  my  absence.  Adieu  once 
more. 

This  strange  enterprise,  so  in  contrast,  like  its  conductor,  to 
the  spirit  of  that  age,  was  not  unobserved  by  the  journals  of  the 
day.  In  the  Historical  Register  for  the  year  1728^,  we  have  another 
account  of  the  departure  from  Gravesend : — 

Dr,  Berkeley's  Design  0/ settling  a  College  in  Bermudtu, 

The  Reverend  Dr.  Berkeley,  Dean  of  Deny,  who  obtained  a  Patent 
of  His  late  Majesty,  to  erect  a  College  in  Bermudas,  like  that  in  Dublin, 
for  instruction  of  youth  in  all  manner  of  liberal  sciences  and  learned  aits, 
sailed  about  the  middle  of  September  last  for  the  West  Indies,  in  a  ship 
of  250  tons,  which  he  hired.  He  took  several  tradesmen  and  artists  with 
him.  Two  gentlemen  of  fortune  (James  and  Dalton)  are  gone,  with  all 
their  effects,  to  settle  in  Bermudas.  The  Dean  married  an  agreeable 
young  lady  about  six  weeks  before  he  set  sail ;  the  lady*s  sister  is  gone 
with  them;  they  had  £4000  each  to  their  fortune,  which  they  carried 
with  them.  They  carried  also  stores  and  goods  to  a  great  value.  The 
Dean  embarked  20,000  (?)  books,  besides  what  the  two  gentlemen  carried. 
They  sailed  hence  for  Rhode  Island,  where  the  Dean  intends  to  winter, 
and  to  purchase  an  estate,  in  order  to  settle  a  correspondence  and  trade 
between  that  island  and  Bermudas,  particularly  for  supplying  Bermudas 
with  black  cattle  and  sheep.  The  Dean's  Grant  of  £2000  [£ao,ooo?] 
on  St.  Christopher's  is  payable  in  two  years  time,  and  the  Dean  has  a 
year  and  a  half  allowed  him  afterwards,  to  consider  whether  he  will  stick 
to  his  College  in  Bermudas,  or  return  to  his  Deanery  of  Deny. 

None  of  the  intended  Fellows  of  the  proposed  College  were  in 
the  party  that  embarked  at  Gravesend.  Besides  the  three  who  seem, 
when  he  left  Dublin  in  1724,  to  have  promised  to  join  the  enter- 
prise, he  had  been  looking  out  for  other  associates,  finding  *  many 
more  competitors  than  vacancies.'  He  tried  besides  to  persuade 
Thomas  Prior  and  Dr.  Clayton,  and  he  had  n^otiations  with 

•»  Vol.  xm.  p.  189. 


Graveseitd. 


153 


'  of  Aberdeen.  But  he  now  sailed  from  Gravesend 
lecr.  Others  were  to  follow  after  land  had  been  purchased, 
n  the  City  and  College  of  Bermuda-''-  were  in  prepress. 
iC  part)'  who  accompanied  him  and  his  wife  consisted  of 
mdcock,  a  daughter  prwbably  of  Sir  William  Handcock, 
Recorder  of  Dublin,  and  ancestor  of  the  noble  family  uf 
line;  John  James,  an  Englishman  of  g(X>d  family,  after- 
r  John  James,  of  whom  more  hereafter;  Richard  Dalton, 
dnshire,  the  common  friend  of  Berkeley,  Benson,  and 
and  Smibert,  an  English  artist,  whom  Berkeley  met  in 
id  whose  studio,  near  Covcnt  Garden,  was,  as  we  have 
c  of  bis  resorts  in  his  years  of  waiting  and  working  in 

is  in  his  fbrty-fonrth  year  when,  in  deep  devotion  to  his 
and  fiill  of  glowing  visions  of  a  Fifth  Empire  in  tlic  West 
}  noblest  offspring,'  he  sailed  for  Rhode  Island,  on  his 
iermuda,  with  the  promise  of  the  Prime  Minister  that  the 
ntary  grant  should  be  paid  to  him  after  he  had  made 
uncnt.  He  bought  land  in  America,  but  he  never  arrived 
Ida. 


ckwcll,  in  tome  obMtTitioni  on 
Mtkn  with  iptculilioD.  iddi : — - 
pcct  1  wonid  with  pleuure  do 
B  taeaory  of  1  jttj  giut  ibongh 
of  (nan.  Dr.  Betkcl^,  known  u 

in  Ihe   Bennodu,   or  SDnunn 


n  together,  1  Kirce  remembn 
3Kd  vilh  him  on  Ihit  in. 
anic,  or  which  hr  knrw  not 
•f  prectilioncn.    Wiih 


r    Ihe  n 

be  mrctnt  to  inratigaie  ii> 
ry,  and  dluovet  the  causa  of 
;  ind  1  hire  known  him  lit  Tor 
■pia  and  founderitt  to  iaipcci 


ht(  pctuliiritin.  cilhu  rtligioui  or  pcrtonaF; 
but  admite  the  cxteniivi  gcniui  of  the  man, 
and  think  it  a  loii  to  lh«  Wctlem  World 
thai  hit  noble  and  culled  plan  of  an  Amer- 

lion.  Manj  nidi  ipiriii  in  our  countr)' 
would  quieklj  make  Iraming  wear  another 
lice.'  (Mtmoin  of  Ibt  Cotirl  0/  AugHilm, 
vol.  n,  p.  177.1  Thomai  BlackwciT,  who 
gicci  ihi(  intemling  leilimony.  wai  bum  in 
Aberdeen  in  I7Qt,andwai  ProfniorofOreek 
in  Mariichal  College  In  1713.  and  Principal 
in  1748.  He  gate  an  Inipulic  to  clatiical 
(tudiei  in  the  north  of  Scotland.  Amoug 
hit  pupili  were  Principal  George  Campbell 
and  Dr.  Jimet  Beatlie. 

'  Berkcley'i   ifciil    in   architectuie   wai 

the  propoicd  City  of  Bermuda,  the  nie- 
tropolit  of  hit  Utopia,  which  were  once 
potKtted  by  the  Rev.  Dr,  Raymond,  Vicar 
of  Trim,  and  aflerwaidi  by  hit  granddaughter 
Mrf.  Ewing.  widow  of  Mr.  Thomat  Ewmg, 
a  Dublin  bovkiellei. 


CHAPTER    V. 

A     RECLUSE     IN     RHODE     ISLAND* 

1729— 1732. 

On  the  2yd  of  January,  1 729,  the  '  hired  ship  of  250  tons,'  in 
which  Berkeley  and  his  party  sailed  from  Gravesend,  was  visible 
in  the  Narragansett  waters,  on  the  western  side  of  Rhode  Island* 
It  was  making  for  the  secure  and  beautiful  harbour  of  Newport, 
after  a  voyage  of  rather  more  than  four  months  from  the  Thames. 
The  arrival  of  the  romantic  expedition,  in  this  remote  region,  on 
its  mission  of  ^  godlike  benevolence,'  was  thus  announced  in  the 
New  England  Weekly  Courier  of  the  3rd  of  February,  1729 : — 

Newport,  January  24,  1729. 

Yesterday  arrived  here  Dean  Berkeley  of  Londonderry,  in  a  pretty 
large  ship.  He  is  a  gentleman  of  middle  stature,  of  an  agreeable, 
pleasant,  and  erect  aspect.  He  was  ushered  into  the  town  with  a  great 
number  of  gentlemen,  to  whom  he  behaved  himself  after  a  very  com* 
plaisant  manner.  'Tis  said  he  proposes  to  tarry  here  with  his  family 
about  three  months. 

An  event  so  singular  as  this  arrival  has  left  its  mark  upon  the 
traditions  of  the  place.  Some  of  them  are  to  be  found  in  Up- 
dike's rare  and  curious  History  of  the  Episcopal  Church  m  Narrs'' 
gansett^  a,  gossipping  local  history  of  that  country,  which  probably 
gives  as  exact  an  impression  as  any  book  of  the  social  and  eccle- 
siastical atmosphere  that  surrounded  Berkeley  in  his  American 
home, 

*Dean  Berkeley,'  we  are  here  told*,  'arrived  in  Newport  by  a  circum- 
stance purely  accidental.  He,  with  other  gentlemen  his  associates,  were 
bound  to  the  Island  of  Bermuda,  with  an  intention  of  establishing  there 
a  College  for  the  education  of  the  Indian  youth  of  this  coimtry — a  plan 

1  History  of  the  Episcopal  Cburcb,  &c.,  p.  395  ;  being  part  of  Bull's  Memoir  0/  Trim^ 
Churchy  Newport, 


A   Recluse  in  Rhode  Island.  155 

fcowvw  which  wholly  failed  The  captain  of  the  ship  iii  which  he  Bailed 
cooid  not  find  the  island  of  Bennnda,  and  having  given  up  the  search  for 
ii,  sicered  northward  unlil  they  discovered  land  unJinown  to  them,  and 
which  they  stipposed  to  be  inhabited  bj  savages.  On  making  a  signal, 
however,  two  men  came  on  board  from  Block  island,  in  the  character  of 
pilots,  who,  on  inquiry,  informed  them  that  the  town  and  harbour  of  New- 
port were  near ;  and  that  in  the  town  there  was  an  Episcopal  Church, 
the  minister  of  which  was  Mr.  James  Honeyman.  On  which  they  pro- 
ceeded to  Newport,  but  an  adverse  wind  caused  them  to  run  into  the 
^■eH  passage,  where  the  ship  came  to  anchor.  The  Dean  wrote  a  letter 
10  Mr.  Honeyman,  which  the  pilots  took  on  shore  at  Conanicut  island, 
■nd  called  on  Mr.  Gardner  and  Mr.  Martin,  two  members  of  Mr.  Honey- 
man's  church,  informing  them  that  a  great  dignitary  of  the  Church  of 
England,  called  Dean,  was  on  board  the  ship,  together  with  other  gentle- 
men passengers.  They  handed  them  the  letter  from  the  Dean,  which 
Gardner  and  Martin  brought  to  Newport  with  all  possible  dispatch.  On 
Ibeir  arrival,  ihcy  found  Mr.  Honeyman  was  at  church,  it  being  a  holiday 
on  which  divine  service  was  held  there.  They  then  sent  ihe  letter  by  a 
tervani,  who  delivered  it  to  Mr.  Honeyman  in  his  pulpit.  He  opened  it 
and  read  it  to  the  congregation,  from  the  contents  of  which  it  appeared 
ibe  Dean  might  be  expected  to  land  in  Newport  tverj  moment.  The 
church  was  dismissed  with  die  blessing,  and  Mr.  Honeyman,  with  the 
vardrns,  vestry,  church,  and  congregation,  male  and  female,  repaired 
iuuDediately  to  the  ferry-wharf,  where  they  arrived  a  little  before  the 
Dean,  his  family  and  friends'.' 

Part  of  this  is  undoubtedly  felse,  for  it  is  contradicted  by 
Berkel^  himself,  in  his  Gravesend  letter  to  Prior,  and  also  by  the 
iJirtonc»l  Regittfr.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  his  intention 
from  the  first  to  go  to  Rhode  Island,  The  idea  seems  to  have 
been  to  purchase  land  there,  as  an  investment  for  Bermuda,  and 
perhaps  also  to  establish  friendly  correspondence  with  ioHuential 
New  Englaodcrs.  Newport  was  then  a  flourishing  town,  nearly  a 
century  old,  of  the  first  importance,  and  an  emporium  of  American 
commerce.  It  was  in  thtse  days  the  maritime  and  commercial 
tivai  of  New  York  and  Boston,  Narragansett  Bay  formed  its 
outer  harbour  i  and  the   inner  harbour,  on  which  the  town  was 

'  Otber  tiuIiliDiit  nry  »  little  fiom  this.       end  of  Rhode  Wand  lo  Newpon.     Oiher* 
Sgoie  tt  them  ay  llul  the  ihip  mide  no       lay  theiiiillind  mideiDn  Ihc  vctKlgai  into 
Umd  UU  it  km«e>l  It  the  cut  or  Sachuctl 
•l*a,  Ima  whkb  ■(  came  loiind  ibe  Doilh 


4 


156  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [en. 

built,  was  well  protected  from  the  ocean.  It  was  a  natural  place 
for  the  President  of  St.  Paul's  to  choose  as  a  basis  of  his  opera- 
tions. The  residence,  too,  in  that  part  of  New  England  of  some 
missionaries  of  the  Society  for  the  Propagation  of  the  Gospel,  who 
had  been  placed  there  a  few  years  before,  may  have  been  another 
inducement. 

One  lingers  over  the  picture  of  the  pious  philanthropist,  his 
newly  married  wife,  her  friend,  and  their  three  companions,  wend- 
ing their  way  from  the  ferry-wharf  of  Newport,  with  their  colonial 
escort,  on  that  far-off  winter  day,  in  the  beginning  of  1729.  This 
*  gentleman  of  middle  stature,*  with  his  manly  courtesy,  found 
himself  at  last  in  the  crisis  of  an  enterprise,  preparation  for  which 
had  absorbed  his  energy  for  seven  long  years,  and  which  aimed  at 
establishing  the  American  civilization  of  the  future  on  the  basis 
of  the  University  and  the  Church.  He  was  '  never  more  agreeably 
surprised,'  he  says,  'than  at  the  sight  of  the  town  and  harbour' 
of  Newport,  where  he  first  saw  the  continent  that  has  so  long  filled 
his  iitiagination.  Around  him  was  some  of  the  softest  rural,  and 
grandest  ocean  scenery  in  the  world,  which  had  fresh  charms  even 
for  one  who,  educated  in  the  vale  of  the  Nore,  was  familiar  with 
the  south  of  England,  had  lingered  on  the  bay  of  Naples,  and 
wandered  in  Inarime  and  among  the  mountains  of  Sicily. 

The  island  in  which  Newport  is  situated  is  about  fifteen  miles 
long,  and  from  three  or  four  in  breadth.  It  was  Berkeley's  home 
for  nearly  three  years — years  of  waiting  for  the  fulfilment  of  the 
promise  on  the  faith  of  which  he  left  England.  He  was  here 
nearly  seventy  miles  from  Boston,  and  about  an  equal  distance 
from  Newhaven  and  Yale  College,  The  Indian  name  of  the 
island  was  Aquidneck  or  the  Isle  of  Peace.  The  surface  was  undu- 
lating, and  there  was  a  central  ridge  with  pleasant  meadows  gently 
sloping  to  the  shore.  This  hill-top  commanded  homely  farm- 
houses, pastures,  cornfields,  orchards,  and  woodlands,  with  streams 
of  water  making  their  way  through  deep  ravines  to  the  bay,  or  to 
the  Ocean  with  its  lofty  cliffs,  a  scene  which  might  remind  the 
English  visitor  partly  of  the  Isle  of  Wight  and  partly  of  Anglesea. 
Orchards  screened  the  houses  from  the  northern  blasts.  The 
atmosphere  was  delightful,  with  brilliant  sunsets  in  summer  and 
autumn,  and  sea  breezes  from  the  south,  tempered  by  the  Gulph 
stream,  and  securing  perpetual  verdure  to  the  fields.     Few  things, 


A  Rectus  in  Rk^de  Island^  157 

llaitors  tell  us,  can  be  imagined  more  soothing  and  beautiful 
the  rippling  of  the  waves  in  the  inner  waters  of  Rhode 
cm  its  smooth  and  shelving  sands^  the  reflection  of  the 
it  banks,  and  the  glistening  surface  under  the  broad  moon-^ 
;  or  mofe  sublime  than  when  in  winter  the  deep  roUiqg 
iiUows  firom  the  ocean  break  upon  its  rocky  shore. 
*  The  island  contained  about  eighteen  thousand  inhabitants,  when 
ibrkdey  landed  in  1729.  Of  these  fifteen  hundred  were  n^roes 
«rAeemen  and  slaves,  for  many  of  the  Newport  merchants  then 
^iiigiiged  in  the  slave  trade.  A  few  native  Indians,  toc^  mi^t 
0SL  be  seen  in  the  island,  sUid  a  larger  number  on  the  opposite  or 
liunn^^uisett  i^ore*  At  that  time  Newport  possessed  attractions, 
m  a  rich  centre  of  foreign  and  domestic  trade,  different  from 
tinse  of  the  ^hionable  wateriog-place  it  has  now  become*  Its 
leailf  wealth  may  be  explained  by  several  causes.  The  salubrity 
cf  tiie  climate  drew  strsmgprs  from  the  Continent  and  from  the 
West  Indies;  its  harbour  gave  security,  near  the  open  ocean; 
sad  the  spirit  of  religious  toleration  which  reigned  in  the 
Island  made  it  then  in  America  what  Holland  was  in  Europe 
in  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

This  little  State  was  colonized  by  Roger  Williams  in  1636. 
Its  society  was  constituted  in  a  way  unlike  the  surrounding  com- 
munities; for  religious  freedom  was  granted  here  while  it  was 
unknown  in  every  other  State  in  America.  Religionists  from  all 
the  Colonies  betook  themselves  to  this  city  of  refuge.  Jews  and 
Quakers,  persecuted  elsewhere,  flourished  in  Newport  in  peace. 
The  island  was  crowded  with  religious  refugees,  who  professed 
ofien  the  most  fantastic  beliefs.  An  unusual  independence  of  in- 
dividual opinion  prevailed,  and  indeed  prevails  there  at  the  present 
day.  At  the  time  of  Berkeley's  arrival,  the  population  of  Newport 
was,  accordingly,  a  motley  one.  The  slave  trade  brought  negroes 
to  the  place.  The  white  inhabitants  were  of  many  religious  sects 
— Quakers,  Moravians,  Jews,  Episcopalians,  Congregationalists, 
Presbyterians,  sixth  principle  and  seventh  principle  Baptists,  and 
as  many  others  besides^.     There  was  a  large  merchant  population, 

'  *  In  ooe  thing  the  diflPerent  sectaries  at  Esq. ;  the  men  in  flaming  scarlet  coats  and 

Newport,  both  men  and  women,  all  agreed  waistcoats,  laced  and  fringed  with  brightest 

— «o  a  rage  for  finery,  to  the  great  amuse-  glaring  yellow.     The  tly  Qoakers,  not  ven- 

ment   of  Berkeley's    two   learned,  elegant  turing  on  these  charming  coats  and  waist- 

fricodt,  Sir  John  James  and  Richard  Dalton,  coats,  yet  loving  finery,  figured  away  with 


158 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley, 


[CH. 


and  a  fleet  of  merchant  ships,  some  employed  in  the  whale  fishery, 
and  others  in  commerce  with  the  West  Indies. 

In  the  interior  of  this  verdant  Island,  and  also  on  the  Narra- 
gansett  shore,  lived  a  pastoral  population.  In  their  snug  wooden 
farm-houses  there  was  plenty  and  good  cheer  in  summer  and  in 
winter.  The  slaves  and  the  Indians  worked  for  the  £sttniers  at  hay 
harvest  and  in  the  sheep-fold.  A  landed  aristocracy  was  inter- 
spersed among  the  sheep  and  cattle  farmers.  The  country  was 
remarkable  in  those  days  for  its  frank  and  generous  ho^itality. 
Travellers  were  entertained  as  guests,  and  inns  were  rare ;  New- 
port contained  only  one  or  two  in  172a  The  society,  for  so 
remote  a  region,  was  intelligent  and  well-informed.  The  landed 
gentlemen  took  good  care  of  the  education  of  their  children. 
Private  tutors  were  employed  by  some,  and  others  were  taken  to 
be  educated  in  the  houses  of  the  missionaries.  The  girls  were 
sent  to  Boston  for  their  education.  The  family  libraries  and 
pictures  which  still  remain  show  the  taste  and  culture  of  the 
gentlemen  of  the  island  and  of  Narragansett  even  in  those;  early 
times — the  Updikes,  Hazards*,  Potters,  Browns,  and  StantonsL 
Smibert,  Berkeley's  artist  friend,  soon  found  employment.  Some 
of  his  portraits  still  adorn  the  houses  of  the  country. 

The  Rhode  Island  aristocracy  of  Berkeley's  time  maintained  the 
character  of  the  old  English  country  gentlemen  fh>m  whom  they 
were  descended.  A  state  of  society  supported-by  slavery  produced 
festivity.  Tradition  records  the  genial  life  of  those  days  in  the 
colony.  Excursions  to  Hartford  to  luxuriate  on  bloated  salmon 
were  annual  indulgences  in  May.  Pace  races  on  the  beach  for 
silver  tankards  were  the  social  indulgences  of  summer.      When 


plate  on  their  sideboards.  One,  to  the  no 
small  diversion  of  Berkeley,  sent  to  England, 
and  had  made  on  purpose,  a  noble  Urge  tea- 
pot of  solid  gold,  and  inquired  of  the  Dean, 
when  drinking  tea  with  him,  whether  Friend 
Berkeley  had  ever  seen  such  a  "curious 
thing.'*  On  being  told  that  silver  ones  were 
much  in  use  in  England,  but  that  he  had 
never  seen  a  gold  one,  Ebenezer  replied : — 
**  Aye,  that  was  the  thing ;  I  was  resolved  to 
have  something  finer  than  anybody  else. 
They  say  that  the  Queen  [Caroline]  has  not 
got  one/'  The  Dean  delighted  his  ridicu- 
lous host  by  assuring  him  that  his  was  an 
unique  ;  and  very  happy  it  made  him.' 
{Preface  to  Monck  Berkeley ^  p  ccccliv.)  Jews 


as  well  as  Quaken  were  then  pronuncnt  is 
Newport.  President  Stiles,  some  yean  aftff 
this,  loved  to  walk  on  the  Parade  there  w^ 
the  Jewish  Rabbies,  leamiag  from  tbem  the 
mysteries  of  the  Cabbala.  See  Dr.  YtiX% 
Memoir  o/HopkimSt  p.  84. 

*  The  name  of  Hazard  assodates  Rhode 
Island  with  philosophy  at  the  present  day,^ 
in  the  person  of  Rowland  G.  Haxard,  of 
Peacedale,  near  Newport,  whose  acute  tiea* 
tises  on  the  Will  (1864),  and  on  CeMolkt 
(1869),  are  known  on  both  sides  of  the 
Atlantic,  and  to  whose  kindneu  I  im  is* 
debted  for  information  about  Berkeley's  IWM 
in  his  native  isbnd. 


»J 


A  Recluse  in  Rhode  Island. 


'59 


sutumn  arrived,  there  were  harvest-home  festivities.  Large 
Dumbers  of  both  sexes  gathered  on  those  occasions.  Gentlemen 
in  Iheir  scarlet  coats  and  swords,  with  laced  ruffles  over  their 
hands,  silk  stockings,  and  shoes  ornamented  with  silver  buckles, 
and  ladies  dressed  in  brocade,  with  high-heeled  shoes  and  high 
bcaJ-drcsscs.  These  festivities  would  sometimes  continue  for 
daj's,  and  they  were  shared  by  the  slaves  as  well  as  their  masters. 
Qiristmas  was  the  great  festival  of  the  year:  twelve  days  were 
then  given  to  hospitalities.  The  wedding,  too,  was  a  great 
gala  in  the  oldca  time.  And  the  fox  chase,  with  hounds  and 
horns,  as  well  as  fishing  and  fowling,  were  favourite  sports  in 
Karr^ansctt '. 


Berkeley  and  his  wife  seem  tu  have  lived  in  the  town  of  Newport 
fo  the  first  five  or  six  months  after  their  arrival.  Mr.  Honeyman, 
the  missionary  of  the  English  Society,  had  been  placed  there, 
in  Trinity  Church,  in  1704.  This  was  the  earliest  episcopal 
mission  in  that  part  of  America,  The  church,  which  was  finished 
a  few  years  before  Berkeley's  arrival,  is  still  a  conspicuous  object 
from  Newport  harbour.  He  preached  in  it  three  days  after  his 
arrival,  and  often  afterwards  during  his  stay  in  the  island".  We 
have  a  slight  picture  of  him  as  he  appeared  in  Trinity  Church, 
given  by  Colonel  Updike's'  son  Ludowick,  who  used  to  say  that 
vhen  a  boy  his  father  often  took  him  to  hear  Berkeley  preach. 
Like  all  really  learned  men,  he  was  tolerant  in  religious  opinion, 
which  gave   him  a  great   and  deserved   popularity  with  all  de- 


kra^  Uiit  pleiHiil  inral  life  when  Bcikctcy 
«M  is  Rhode  ItUnd.  '  Among  (hem,*  uji 
UpUc.'vcteDr  Badcock, Colonel SuMon, 
Calood  Chiniplin.  ibe  two  Got.  Hautdi, 
Go*.  Robiowa.  Cd.  Polls,  Jndn  Ponei. 
Ih(  OwilBkn.  Col.  WUlet,  Elithi  Cole.  John 
waA  Edwiti]  Cole.  Judge  Hobne.  Col.  Up- 
ttc.  Minhe*  Robinwn.  Col  Brawn,  Dr. 
M'^tiTsn.  mii   Di.  Fijenrmhei.     They 

BoMgo.  Thoe  conitituled  ■  bright,  intel- 
boa>l.  tad  [aidniiing  ^  ndely.  Great 
lodalirr  and  inletchjuige  of  ritlti  preniled 
a*aag  Ibcm.  lod  itrangen  were  welcome, 
md  treated  with  old-faihioaed  uibanily  and 
kapulitj' :  but  the  political  aciimimy,  niifc. 


broke    up    and    dstroyed    their    peviouily 

tioiu  wen  niTcr  reitored.  By  Ihit  event 
we  became  mother  and  a  new  people.' 
(p.  187.) 

*  The  BtrMty  Paprri  contain  ikeletoo 
notes  of  lemion!  pleached  in  Trinity  Church, 
Newport,  and  in  the  Naniganutt  couul^, 
printed  in  another  part  of  this  volume- 
They  wcic  for  the  moit  pan  preached  in 


4 
4 


1719.  ■>■ 


1730- 


'  Colone 

Upride   wa. 

of  the  Co 

my  for  Iw 

foui  years.     He 

wa.  an   in 

■nixe   Iriei] 

d    0 

Berkeley,  who 

0    him.  on 

hii 

departure  from 

Rhode  l>li 

nd,  a  lilrer 

coff 

f-foX.  which  re- 

mains  a>  a 

heirk»n> 

nth 

Updike  family. 

i6o  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cit 

nominations.  All  sects,  it  seems,  rushed  to  hear  him ;  even  tiie 
Quakers  with  their  broad-brimmed  hats  came  and  stood  in  the 
aisles.  Updike  reports  that  Berkeley  in  one  of  his  sermons  very 
emphatically  said — *Give  the  devil  his  due,  John  Calvin  was 
a  great  man'/ 

Three  months  after  his  arrival  at  Newport,  Berkeley  describes 
his  new  experience  in  the  following  letter  to  Prior : — 

Newport^  in  Rhode  Island, 

April  24,  1729. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  CAH  by  this  time  say  something  to  you,  from  my  own  experience,  of 
this  place  and  people. 

The  inhabitants  are  of  a  mixed  kind,  consisting  of  many  sorts  and  sub- 
divisions of  sects.  Here  are  four  sorts  of  Anabaptists,  besides  Presby- 
terians, Quakers,  Independents,  and  many  of  no  profession  at  alL 
Notwithstanding  so  many  differences,  here  are  fewer  quarrels  about 
religion  than  elsewhere,  the  people  living  peaceably  with  their  neighbours, 
of  whatever  profession.  They  all  agree  in  one  point,  that  the  Church  of 
England  is  the  second  best.  The  climate  is  like  that  of  Italy,  and  not  at  all 
colder  in  the  winter  than  I  have  known  it  every  where  north  of  Rome. 
The  spring  is  late ;  but,  to  make  amends,  they  assure  me  the  autumns 
are  the  finest  and  longest  in  the  world,  and  the  sunmiers  are  mudi 
pleasanter  than  those  of  Italy  by  all  accounts,  forasmuch  as  the  grass  con- 
tinues green,  which  it  doth  not  there.  This  island  is  pleasantly  laid  out 
in  hills  and  vales  and  rising  grounds ;  hath  plenty  of  excellent  springs 
and  fine  rivulets,  and  many  delightful  landscapes  of  rocks  and  promon- 
tories and  adjacent  islands.  The  provisions  are  very  good ;  so  are  the 
fruits,  which  are  quite  neglected,  tho'  vines  sprout  up  of  themselves  to  an 
extraordinary  size,  and  seem  as  natural  to  this  soil  as  to  any  I  ever  saw. 
The  town  of  Newport  contains  about  six  thousand  souls,  and  is  the  most 
thri\ing  flourishing  place  in  all  America  for  its  bigness.  It  is  very  pretty 
and  pleasantly  situated.  I  was  never  more  agreeably  surprised  than  at 
the  sight  of  the  town  and  its  harbour.  I  could  give  you  some  hints  that 
may  be  of  use  to  you  if  you  were  disposed  to  take  advice ;  but  of  all  men 
in  the  world,  I  never  found  encouragement  to  give  you  any. 

By  this  opportunity  I  have  drawn  on  Messrs.  Wog^  and  AspinwaD 
for  ninety-seven  pounds,  and  shall  soon  draw  for  about  five  hundred 
pounds   more.      I  depend  on  your  taking  care  that  my  bills  be  duly 

'  Mtmoin  oftht  Rbod*  Inland  Btur,  p.  34. 


A  Recluse  in  Rhode  Island. 


i6i 


\  hope  you  have  well  concerted  that  matter  with  Swift  and  Com- 
;  I  desired  you.  My  draughts  shall  always  be  within  my  income ; 
;  any  time  they  should  be  made  before  payment  thereof  into  their 
will  pay  interest.  I  doubt  not  you  keep  my  farmers  punctual. 
e  heard  nothing  from  you  or  any  of  my  friends  in  England  or 
which  makes  me  suspect  my  letters  were  in  one  of  the  vessels 
ck'd.  I  write  in  great  haste,  and  have  no  time  to  say  a  word  to 
ler  Robin.  Let  him  know  we  are  in  good  health.  Once  more 
e  that  my  draughts  are  duly  honoured  (which  is  of  the  greatest 
ice  to  my  credit  here);  and  if  I  can  serve  you  in  these  parts,  you 
imand  your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

GEOR.  BERKELEY. 

the  date  of  my  accounts  and  affairs,  directed  and  enclosed  to 
Corbet,  Esq.,  at  the  Admiralty  Office  in  London.     Direct  all 
ers  the  same  way.     I  long  to  hear  from  you. 

e  spring  of  1729,  accompanied  by  his  friends  Smibert  and 
Updike,  he  visited  the  Rev,  James  M'Sparran®,  the  mis- 
minister  of  St.  Paul's  Episcopal  Church  in  Narragansett, 
America  Dissected  bears  traces  of  an   acute   and  vigorous 
Smibert's  portraits  of  the  good  missionary  and  his  wife 
as  memorials  of  this  visit.     It  gave  Berkeley  an  oppor- 
)f  visiting  the  Indians  in   their  huts  and  encampments, 
t   one  of  his    manuscript   sermons   is   marked  as  having 
^reached  in  the   Narragansett  country.*      We   learn,   on 
rkeley's  authority,  that  '  when  the  season  and  his  health 
?d,  he  visited  the  Continent  [of  America],  not  only  in  its 
skirts,  but  penetrated  far  into  its  recesses.     The  same 
5  desire  of  advancing  the  best  interests  of  mankind  which 


5  the  following  from  Duyckinck*$ 

of  American  Literature: — *  The 

J  M'Sparran  of  St.  Paul's  Church, 

It,  WIS  one  of  the  pioneer  band 

clergymen   whose    influence    is 

noticed  in  cementing  the  founda- 

lerican  progress.     His  family  was 

)rth  of  Ireland,  having  em'grated 

ind.      He   had   a    good   classical 

ind  came  a  missionary  to  Narra- 

the  State  of  Rhode  Island,  from 

J   for    the    Propagation    of    the 

orcign  Parts,  in  1 7  2 1 .    The  next 

arried    Miss    Harriet   Gardner,  a 


lady  of  the  place.  He  was  intimate  with 
Berkeley  during  the  residence  of  the  Dean 
at  Newport.  In  1 736,  he  visited  England, 
and   returned  with  the  title   of  Doctor  of 

Divinity  from  Glasgow In  1752   he 

wrote  an  historical  tiact  of  merit — America 
Dissectedf  which  was  printed  at  Dublin  in 

1753 It  was  his  intention  to  publish 

an  extended  history  of  the  Colonies,  espe- 
cially of  New  England He  died  at 

his  house,  in  South  Kingstown.  December  I, 
1757,  having  sustained  manfully  a  career  of 
many  difficulties.'  (pp.  143 — 44.) 


r  • 


M 


1 62  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

induced  him  to  cross  the  Atlantic  did  uniformly  actuate  him 
whilst  America  was  the  scene  of  his  ministry.*  ^  Dean  Berkeley,' 
says  Updike,  '  repeatedly  visited  Narragansett,  accompanied  by 
Smibert,  Col.  Updike,  and  Dr.  MQparran,  to  examine  into  the 
condition  and  character  of  the  Narragansett  Indians  ^V 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  however,  that  Berkeley  travelled 
extensively  in  America.  His  knowledge  of  that  country  froni 
personal  observation  was  limited  to  a  narrow  region.  We  find 
no  traces  of  him  to  the  south  or  west  of  Rhode  Island,  in  the 
direction  of  Newhaven  and  Stratford,  or  on  the  Connecticut  river. 
And  we  have  the  almost  contemporaneous  testimony  of  the  Rev. 
Noah  Hobart.  '  Tis  true,'  this  gentleman  says  '^\  ^  that  Berkeley 
resided  in  Rhode  Island  for  some  time,  but  whether  he  was  per- 
sonally acquainted  with  any  number  of  our  most  eminent  ministers 
I  confess  I  do  not  kiiow.  In  the  general,  it  is  well  enough  known 
that  this  '  great  and  good  man,'  as  Mr.  Beech  very  justly  styles  him, 
partly  through  indisposition,  and  partly  through  a  close  application 
to  his  beloved  studies,  lived  a  very  retired  life  while  in  this 
country.  He  saw  very  little  of  New  England,  was  hardly  ever  off 
Rhode  Island,  never  in  Connecticut,  nor  in  Boston  till  he  went 
there  to  take  his  passage  to  Lx)ndon.' 

The  following  letter  to  Prior  was  written  while  Berkeley  was 
living  in  the  town  of  Newport : — 

m 

Neivport  in  Rhode  Island^ 

June  12,  1729. 
Dear  Tom, 

Being  informed  that  an  inhabitant  of  this  country  is  on  the  point  of 
going  for  Ireland,  I  would  not  omit  writing  to  you,  and  acquainting  yoo 
that  I  received  two  of  yours,  dated  September  23  and  December  21, 
wherein  you  repeat  what  you  formerly  told  me  about  Finney's  legacy. 
The  case  of  Marshall's  death  I  had  not  before  considered.  I  leave  it  to 
you  to  act  in  this  matter  for  me  as  you  would  for  yourself  if  it  was  your 
own  case.  I  depend  on  your  diligence  about  finishing  what  remains  to 
be  done,  and  your  punctuality  in  seeing  my  money  duly  paid  in  to  Swift 
and  Company,  and  sending  me  accounts  thereof. 

If  you  have  any  service  to  be  done  in  these  parts,  or  if  you  would 

1'  See  Biog.  Brit.  vol.  III.—*  Addenda  ;'  ^^  Second  Addnss  to  tbt  Membmra  of  At 

and  Updike,  pp.  176,  513.  Episcopal  Separation^  Boston,  1751. 


If  J  A  Rtcluse  in  Rhode  Island.  {63 

Ibow  anjr  purticiilaiSy  ]fdu  need  only  send  me  the  questions,  and  durect 
iie  liow  I  xoasf  be  serviceable  to  you.  The  winter,  it  must  be  allowed, 
was  modi  sharper'  dian  the  usual  winters  in  Ireland,  but  not  at  all 
Aarper  tibaa  I  have  known  them  in  Italy.  To  make  amends,  the  sum- 
mer 18  exceediii^  delightful;  and  if  the  spring  begins  late,  the  autunm 
€lid»  proportionabiy  later  than  with  you,  and  is  said  to  be  the  finest  in 
the  world. 

I  soa^  dus  moment  to  write ;  and  have  time  only  to  add,  that  I  have 
got  a  son,  who,  I  thank  God,  is  likely  to  live.  My  wife  joins  with 
ne  in  her  service  to  you.    I  am,  dear  Tom,  your  affectionate  humble 

G.  BERKELEY.    . 

I  fiod  k  hath  been  reported  in  Ireland  that  we  propose  settling  here. 
I  most  desire  fn  tb  d^countenance  any  such  report  The  truth  is,  if 
&e  Kii^s  bounty  were  paid  in,  and  the  charter  could  be  removed  hither, 
I  dKNdd  like  it  better  than  Bermuda :  bat  ^  this  were  mentioned  before 
die  payment  of  said  money,  it  may  perhaps  hinder  it,  and  defeat  all  our 


As  to  lAat  yon  say  of  Hamilton's "  proposal,  I  can  only  answer  at 
present  by  a  question,  m.  Whether  it  be  possible  for  me,  in  my  absence, 
to  be  put  in  possession  of  the  Deanery  of  Dromore  ?  Desire  him  to 
make  that  point  clear,  and  you  shall  hear  farther  from  me. 

TTiis  letter  announces  the  birth  of  Berkeley's  first  child.  The 
records  of  Trinity  Church,  Newport,  contain  the  following  rather 
curious  relative  information: — ^1729,  September  1.  Henry  Berke- 
ley, son  of  Dean  Berkeley,  baptised  by  his  father^  and  received  into 
the  Church/ 

In  the  following  extract  from  a  letter  written  by  Dr.  Zachary 
Grey  to  Dr.  Timothy  Culter,  formerly  of  Yale  College,  and  now  of 
Boston,  we  have  a  reference  to  Berkeley^^: — 

Boston^  New  England^ 
July  18,  1729. 

Dean  Berkeley  is  at  Rhode  Island,  honoured  by  the  whole 

Church,  and  dissenters  of  all  denominations.     He  will  pass  the  next 

**  Probably    John     Hamilton,    Dean    of  Houghton   Conquest  in   Bedfordshire.     He 

Dromore.     This  adds  to  the  difficulty  about  corresponded  for  many  years  with  Dr.  Cutler 

that  deanery.  at  Boston.     See  Nichols's  Lit,  Ante,  vol.  II. 

**  Nidiob's    lUtairtUions   of  ZMerahtre,  p.  546. 
roL  IV.  p.  389.     Dr.  Grey  was  rector  of 

M  2 


164  Life  and  Letters  0/  Berkeley.  [ch. 

winter  there ;  and  we  promise  ourselves  he  will  use  his  interest  to  place 
his  College  in  these  parts,  and  this  will  be  some  compensation  for  the 
loss  the  Church  has  sustained  as  fo  Harvard  College. 

We  have  other  glimpses  of  Berkeley  this  summer.  ^  Elder* 
Comer,  who  at  that  time  preached  to  a  congregation  of  Baptists 
at  Newport,  left  some  manuscript  diaries,  which  are  preserved  in 
the  archives  of  the  Rhode  Island  Historical  Society,  at  Providence. 
In  these,  the  following  entry  occurs:—^  ^7^9?  J^y  ^4-  This  day 
Mr.  John  Adams  and  I  waited  on  Dean  Geoi^e  Berkeley  at  his 
house.  Kindly  treated/  The  following  memorandum  of  the 
worthy  '  Elder'  is  curious :— *  From  July  28  to  August  7,  1729,  the 
heat  was  so  intense  as  to  cause  the  death  of  many.  Through  the 
first  nights  in  August,  the  lightnings  were  constant  and  amazing.' 

It  was  probably  in  this  July  or  August  of  1729,  that  Berkeley, 
with  his  wife  and  child,  removed  from  Newport  to  the  pleasant 
valley  in  the  interior  of  the  island,  where  he  had  bought  a  farm 
and  built  a  house.  His  three  friends,  James^  Dalton,  and  Smibeit, 
soon  afterwards  went  to  live  in  Boston. 

Berkeley's  farm  was  a  tract  of  land  of  about  ninety-six  aacii 
He  bought  it  from  Captain  John  Anthony,  a  native  of  Walci^ 
then  a  wealthy  grazier  in  Rhode  Island,  whose  daughter  afterwanb 
married  Gilbert  Stuart,  father  of  the  American  artist  '*.  It  adjoined 
a  farm  which  belonged  to  the  missionary  Honeyman^  from  whom 
Honey  man's  Hill  in  the  neighbourhood  takes  its  name.  Intiiii 
sequestered  spot  Berkeley  planned  and  built  a  commodious  house. 
He  named  his  island  home  Whitehall,  in  loyal  remembrance  of 
the  Palace  of  the  English  kings  from  Henry  VIII  to  James  II. 
It  was  in  the  farm-house  of  Whitehall  that,  at  the  age  of  forty-four, 
he  began  domestic  life,  the  father  of  a  family.  Till  the  autumn 
of  1729,  he  had  lived  in  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  in  hired  apart- 
ments in  London,  or  in  France  and  Italy — not  at  all,  as  it  seems, 
domesticated  at  Dromore  or  Derry.  He  had  now  more  oppor- 
tunity for  meditative  reading  than  almost  since  he  left  Dublin  in 
J  71 3,  and  he  had  one  to  share  his  life  whose  sympathy  was  with 
Fenelon  and  mystic  Quietism. 

"  See  Updike,  p.  254.  I  have  not  been  tioni  of  the 'Hon.  J.  R.  Bartlett,  of  Prori- 
able  to  get  a  copy  of  the  original  deed  of  dence.  The  Records  at  Newport  were  lost 
purchase,   notwithstanding   the  kind  cxer-       or  injured  in  the  revolutionary  war. 


w 


A  Recluse  in  Rhode  Island. 


■65 


The  house  at  Whitehall  may  still  be  seen,  in  its  green  valley, 
I  near  a  hill  which  commands  a  wide  view  of  land  and  ocean 
land  neighbouring  islands.  When  asked  why  he  built  it  in  the 
I  valley,  when  he  might  have  gratified  his  love  of  nature  more  if  it 
I  had  been  placed  on  the  high  ground,  Berkeley  is  said  to  have 
lanswered,  with  philosophic  appreciation — *To  enjoy  what  is  to 
1  be  seen  from  the  hill,  1  must  visit  Jt  only  occasionally  j  if  the 
Iprcspect  were  constantly  in  view  it  would  lose  its  charm.'  The 
Itiousc  stands  a  little  off  the  road  that  runs  eastward  from  New- 
I  port,  about  three  miles  from  the  town.  The  engraving  here 
I  given  is  from  drawings  taken  on  the  spot^*. 


jran  I75g  end  i;6o.  by  Andrev  Bunuby, 
M-A..  Vicar  of  Oteenirich,  we  have  tonie 
acemnt  or  WhitehiU  neiriy  Ibjrty  ytin 
ifia  Berkeley  leTt  it.  The  following  eilract 
b  tDMmting : — 

•  Al  Newport,  ibout  ihree  milet  from 
fevn.  ii  an  indiSerait  wooden  houie.  bail! 
br  Dcu)  Bdkeley.  when  he  was  in  ih»e 
put*.  The  >ltuiIton  i>  1o 
■  ficw  view  of  Ihe  ocaa,  anil  of  lome 
■ugrd  rock)  thai  aie  on  the  left  hind 
Tbcy  i«l»le  here  teTtial  itrange  stori 
Ac  Dftn,  which,  ai  they  ire  characti 
*t  thai  amordiiury  man.  deieive  I 
'  "" '     One,  in  paiticulat,  1 


beg  the  teadec'i  indulgence  lo  allow  tne 
to  repeat  to  him.  The  Dean  hid  formed 
the  plan  of  building  a  town  opon  the 
rockt  which  I  have  josl  now  taken  notice 
of.  and  of  cutting  a  road  through  a  landy 
beach  which  !>»  a  little  below  Ihem,  in 
order  that  ihipi  might  come  Dp  and  be 
ihellered  in  bad  weather.  He  wai  (o  fall 
of  thii  pioject  ai  one  day  to  tiy  to  one 
Smibert.  a  deiignci,  whom  he  had  brought 
OTCr  with  him  from  Europe,  on  the  Utter') 
asking  >ome  ludicrous  quciiion  concerning 
the  fntnte  importance  of  the  place — "  Truly 
you  have  very  little  fornight :  for.  in  Gft)' 
years  time,  every  fool  of  land  in  this  placa 
will  be  al  valuable  a>  the  land  in  Cheipnde." 
The  Dean's  house,  Dolwilhi        "       '  ' 


1 66 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkelq^. 


[CH. 


No  spot  in  that  island  can  be  dearer  to  the  thinker  xx  the 
philanthropist  than  the  quiet  vale  in  which  Berkeley  lived  and 
studied  for  more  than  two  years.  The  changes  of  a  century  and  a 
half  have  left  the  place  nearly  as  it  was,  though  the  house  now 
bears  marks  of  decay.  It  is  built  of  wood.  It  has  an  architectural 
character  of  its  own,  different  from  the  other  farm-houses  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Within,  the  ceilings  are  low,  the  cornices  deep, 
and  the  fireplaces  ornamented  with  quaint  tiles.  The  house  looks 
to  the  south.  The  south-west  room  was  probably  the  library.  The 
old  orchard  has  mostly  perished ;  here  and  there  aged  apple-trees 
stand,  whose  gnarled  trunks  have  resisted  the  winter  storm.  A 
few  old  cedars  are  near.  The  well  from  which  Berkeley  drank 
may  be  s?cn,  with  its  old-fashioned  apparatus  for  drawing  water. 
Sheep  and  cattle  still  feed  in  the  sunny  pastures,  and  the  sur- 
rounding meadows  and  corn-fields  are  well  cultivated.  A  rivulet 
runs  through  a  small  ravine  near  the  house.  The  ocean  may  be 
seen  in  the  distance — while  the  groves  and  wild  rocks  oiSer  the 


diction,  is  at  present  nothing  better  than  a 
farm-house,  and  his  librarj  is  converted  into 
the  dairy.* 

A  reviewer  in  the  GiHtliman*s  Magazim 
(vol.  XL V.  p.  13.^),  who  seems  to  be  well 
informed,  observes  as  follows  upon  this 
passage: — 

*  Several  mistakes  in  this  strange  story  we 
have  a  particular  pleasure  in  being  able  to 
correct,  in  justice  to  a  man  who,  though 
extraordinary,  was  also  excellent,  and  whose 
zeal,  however  unsuccessful,  in  the  best  of 
causes,  entitles  him  to  much  better  epithets 
than  wild  and  chimerical.  Far  from  pro- 
jecting a  town,  &c.,  the  building,  and  the 
only  building,  which  Dean  Berkeley  had 
planned,  was  a  tea-room  and  a  kitchen,  not 
even  a  bed-chamber.  For  what  he  said 
to  his  designer  (or  rather  painter),  Smibcrt, 
a  painter  without  imagination,  as  to  the 
probable  value  of  that  ground,  there  is  not 
the  least  foundation.  Possibly  the  proprietor 
of  it  might  conceive  that  there  was  some 
latent  scheme  in  contemplation  which  might 
eventually  increase  the  v^Iue ;  and  certain  it 
is  that,  influenced  by  this  notion,  he  de- 
manded a  greater  price  than  the  Dean 
chose  to  give,  and    therefore  declined  th/ 

purchase Had  Mr.  Bumaby  been  so 

disposed,  Rhode  Island  would  have  furnished 
him  with  some  traits  of  Dean  Berkeley  as 
a  philanthropist  more  pleasing  and  more 
true.' 


Lord  and  Lady  Ambctky  riaited  White* 
hall  in  September,  1867 — moire  than  a 
century  zfta  Mr.  Bumabj.  I  eactiact  the 
following  sentences  from  a  letter  gi^ng  v\ 
account  of  the  visit,  with  idura^  1  was 
favoured  by  Lady  Araberlej : — 

*  The  house  is  built  of  wood,  as  they  all 
are  in  this  part  of  the  coootiy — white 
horizontal  jdanks.  Berkeley's  parkmr  was 
a  good  sized  square  room,  with  fimr  win- 
dows, and  a  large  fireplace,  with  pretty,  old- 
fashioned,  painted  tiles.  His  bedioom  was 
above — a  narrow  massive  staircase,  with 
wooden  bannisters,  leading  to  it.  There  is 
an  old  orchard  in  front  of  the  hoose,  with 
pear-trees  in  it  that  were  there  in  BedEeley*s 
time.  An  old  vine  creeps  orer  dw  hone. 
....  A  simple-nunded  woman,  named 
Brown,  who  inhabits  it,  was  surprised  at  oar 
interest  in  every  comer  of  the  place.  .  .  .  • 
From  the  house  we  went  to  what  is  called 
the  Second  Beach,  nearly  a  mile  off,  Berke- 
ley's chief  resort,  and  where  the  rocks  arc 
known  by  the  name  of  Paradise.  The 
beach  is  sandy.  The  rocks  stand  back  a 
little  way  from  it.  One  gets  to  the  foot  of 
them  across  a  brook,  and  through  long 
tangled  grass,  full  of  beautifully  coloured 
wild  flowers.  The  alcove  is  a  lonely  spot, 
open  only  to  the  south,  with  a  grand  view 
of  the  ocean,  and  quite  protected  frcxn  rain 
and  sun,  and  from  all  intruders — a  capital 
study  for  any  recluse.' 


»0 


A   Raluse  in  Rhode  Island. 


167 


same  sbade,  and  silence,  and  solitude  which  soothed  Berkeley  in 
his  recluse  life.  No  solicitations  of  his  friends  in  Boston  could 
withdraw  him  from  the  quiet  of  this  retreatj  where  he  diverted  his 
anxieties  about  Bermuda  and  tlie  expected  endowment  by  the 
ingenious  and  beautiful  thoughts  which  are  blended  with  subtle 
feeling  and  gleams  of  humour  in  the  dialogues  of  Aldphrou,  pub- 
lished after  his  return  to  England.  This  most  popular  of  all  his 
writings  was  the  result  of  reading  and  meditation  in  Rhode 
kUiKl.  None  of  his  previous  works  show  so  much  learned  re- 
search. We  may  infer  from  its  pages  that  Berkeley  must  have  1 
had  3  considerable  library  within  bis  reach  at  Whitehall. 

AUiftnn  is  redolent  of  the  fragrance  of  rural  nature  in  Rhode   ' 
Island,  and    of   the    invigorating    breezes    of   its    ocean    shore. 


Smith  of  Philadelphia,  in  his  preface  to  the  London  edition  of 
Johnson  of  Stratford's  philosophical  works,  says  that  one  day  when 
vi&iling  him  Johnson   took  up   the  book,  and  reading  some  of  J 
Berkeley's  rural   descriptions,   told   him    that   they   were   copied  | 
bijm   Ibc  charming  landscapes   in  that  delightful   island,   wh    ' 


1 68  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

lay  before  him  at  the  time  he  was  writing.  The  traditioa  is 
that  much  of  Alciphrtm  was  studied  in  the  open  air  at  a  favourite 
retreat  below  a  projecting  rock,  commanding  a  view  of  the  beadi 
and  the  ocean,  with  some  shady  elms  not  far  oC  The  spot  is 
still  shown  to  visitors^  and  the  chair  in  which  Berkeley  was  ac- 
customed to  sit  in  this  natural  alcove  in  the  Hanging  Rocks  is 
still  preserved  with  veneration ^•. 

We  have  pictures  of  Rhode  Island  in  the  book.  The  following  pas- 
sage, for  instance,  describes  the  scenery  round  Whitehall":— *  After 
dinner  we  took  our  walk  to  Crito's,  which  lay  through  half  a  dozen 
pleasant  fields,  planted  round  with  plane-trees,  that  are  very  com- 
mon in  this  part  of  the  country.  We  walked  under  the  delicious 
shade  of  these  trees  for  about  an  hour  before  we  came  to  Crito^s 
house,  which  stands  in  the  middle  of  a  small  park,  beautified  with 
two  fine  groves  of  oak  and  walnut,  and  a  winding  stream  of  sweet 
and  clear  water.*  Here  is  a  picture  of  the  Second  Beach  and  the 
Hanging  Rocks'*: — *Next  morning  Alciphron  and  Lysides  said 
the  weather  was  so  fine  they  had  a  mind  to  spend  the  day  abroad, 
and  take  a  cold  dinner  under  a  shade  in  some  pleasant  part  of 
the  country.  Whereupon,  after  break&st,  we  went  down  to  a 
beach  about  half  a  mile  off,  where  we  walked  on  the  smooth  sand, 
with  the  ocean  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  wild,  broken 
rocks,  intermixed  with  shady  trees  and  springs  of  water,  till  the  sun 
began  to  be  uneasy.  We  then  withdrew  into  a  hollow  glade  between 
two  rocks,  where  we  seated  ourselves.*  The  conversation  in  the  fifth 
Dialogue  is  introduced  by  a  picture  of  the  town  of  Newport  and 
Narragansett  Bay  as  seen  from  Honeyman's  Hill : — ^  We  amused 
ourselves  next  day,  every  one  to  his  fancy,  till  nine  of  the  clock, 
when  word  was  brought  that  the  tea-table  was  set  in  the  library, 
which  is  a  gallery  on  a  ground  floor,  with  an  arched  door  at  one  end 
opening  into  a  walk  of  limes,  where,  as  soon  as  we  had  drank  tea, 
we  were  tempted  by  fine  weather  to  take  a  walk  which  led  to  a 
small  mount  of  easy  ascent,  on  the  top  whereof  we  found  a  seat  under 
a  spreading  tree.     Here  we  had  a  prospect,  on  the  one  hand  of  a 


'•  Dr.  Coit  in  a  letter  says, — *  Through  An   engraying  of    the    chair   it  given  by 

my  grandfather,  the  chair   in   which  Dean  Updike,  p.  306.     It  was  here,  according  to 

Berkeley  used  to  sit  at   Newport  has  de-  Updike,  that  he  wrote  his  celebrated  ferscs 

scended  to  me,  and  is  still  in  good  preserva-  — so  oracular  as  to  the   future  destiny  of 

tion.     It  is  the  one  in  which  he  is  believed  America.     Cf.  note  15. 

to  have  composed  his  Minute  Pbilosopber.'  "  Dial.  I.  sect.  I.         **  Dial.  II.  tectl. 


h 


A  Rtebat  in  RhuU  Island.  169 

narrow  bay  or  creek  of  die  sea,  enclosed  on  either  side  bjr  coast 
beautified  with  rocks  and  woods,  and  green  banks  and  fkrm^iouseSn . 
At  the  end  of  the  ba^  was  a  small  town,  placed  upon  the  slc^  tk 
a  hill,  which,  from  the  advantage  of  its  situation,  made  a  consider- 
able (igure.  Several  fishing-4>oats  and  li^iters  gliding  up  and 
down,  un  a  surface  as  smooth  and  as  bright  as  glassy  enlivened 
the  prospect.  On  the  other  side,  we  looked  down  on  greeo 
pastures,  flocks  and  herds  basking  beneath  in  sunshine,  while  we, 
in  our  situation,  cnjcyed  the  Ireshness  of  air  and  shade.  Here  we 
felt  the  sort  of  joyful  instinct  «^di  a  nital  scene  and  fine  weather 
inspire  J  and  proposed  no  small  pleasure  in  resuming  and  con- 
tinuing our  conference  till  dinner.'  "Die  spirited  picture  of  a  ibx 
chase,  which  follows,  represents  what  might  be  seen  not  in  £ng- 
land  only,  but  also  in  the  Nairagansett  country. 

Though  Berkeley  loved  diiefly  domestic  quiet  at  Wbitdiall,  and 

the  <  still  air  of  deli^tfiil  studies,*  he  mixed  occasionally  in  the 
society  of  Newport,  with  its  clergymen,  lawyers,  and  physicians, 
and  its  enterprising  and  liberal  merchants.  Some  of  them  had 
been  trained  in  European  universities,  and  were  attracted  to  the 
colony  by  its  prosperity.  Soon  after  he  settled  at  Whitdiall,  he 
took  an  active  share  in  forming  a  philosophical  Society  in  New- 
port, where  he  found  persons  not  unqualified  to  consider  ques- 
tions which  had  long  occupied  his  thoughts,  and  who  could 
see  that  his  philosophical  system  implied  no  distrust  of  the 
senses,  nor  disregard  of  reason  in  the  conduct  of  life.  Among 
the  members  were  Col.  Updike,  Judge  Scott  (a  granduncle  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott),  Nathaniel  Kay,  Henry  Collins,  Nathan  Townsend, 
the  Rev.  James  Honeyman,  and  the  Rev.  Jeremiah  Condy.  John- 
son of  Stratford  and  M^parran  of  Narragansett  were  occasional 
members.  The  Society  seems  to  have  been  very  successful.  One 
of  its  objects  was  to  collect  books.  It  originated,  in  1747,  the 
Redwood  Library,  one  of  the  most  useful  institutions  in  Newport 
at  the  present  day^". 

Berkeley's  house  at  Whitehall  was  a  place  of  meeting  for  the 
missionaries  of   the  surrounding   country.      '  The    missionaries 


li»»d  at  ProY 

dence 

(Updike,  pp.  41-J9) 

GibHel  Bcmon.  >n  >gcd  Haguenot  rrfugef. 

h.» 

not  been  able  to  re- 

■ho   onigmtd   to  Americi  in    1698,    xvA 

cover. 

1 70  Life  arid  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

from  the  English  Society,  who  resided  within  a  hundred  miles 
of  Newport,*  according  to  the  affectionate  testimony  of  Mrs. 
Berkeley  ^^^5  '  agreed  among  themselves  to  hold  a  sort  of  Synod 
there,  twice  in  a  year,  in  order  to  enjoy  the  advantages  of  his 
advice  and  exhortation.  Four  of  these  meetings  were  iuxordingly 
held.  One  of  the  principal  points  which  he  then  pressed  upon 
his  fellow-labourers  was  the  absolute  necessity  of  conciliating  by 
all  innocent  means  the  affection  of  their  hearers,  and  also  of  their 
dissenting  neighbours.  His  own  example  indeed  very  eminently 
enforced  his  precepts ;  for  it  is  hardly  possible  to  conceive  a  con- 
duct more  uniformly  kind,  tender,  beneficial,  and  liberal  than  his 
was.  He  seemed  to  have  only  one  wish  in  his  heart— that  was 
to  alleviate  misery,  and  diffuse  happiness.' 

In  the  delightful  seclusion  of  this  studious  life^  the  recluse  in 
Rhode  Island  was  not  forgotten  by  his  friends  in  England.  He 
continued  to  correspond  with  Prior  at  Dublin^  and  also  with  friends 
about  Court  in  London,  praying  for  a  settlement  of  the  Bermuda 
claims.  The  following  letter  from  Dr.  Benson  *^  may  have  reached 
Whitehall  in  the  autumn  of  1729,  and  now  throws  some  ligiht 
upon  Berkeley : — 

Dear  Mr.  Dean, 

It  was  great  joy  to  me  to  hear  from  your  own  hand,  what  I  had  before 
heard  from  others,  that  you  were  safely  arriv'd  in  Rhode  Island,  and  that 
Rhode  Island  is  so  agreeable  to  you ;  and  I  am  the  more  pleas*d  it  is,  as 
I  fmd  so  litde  likelihood  of  the  £20,000  being  paid  in  order  to  remove 
you  to  Bermuda.  I  know  how  much  it  is  your  desire  to  be  doing  a  great 
deal  of  good  wherever  you  are,  and  I  hope  it  is  in  your  power  to  do  it  in 
some  other  place,  if  they  will  not  permitt  you  to  do  it  where  you  at  first 
proposed.  [I  said]  to  Ld.  Pembroke  as  a  thought  of  my  own  whe[ther] 
they  would  give  some  part  of  the  money  if  they  [could  not  be]  persuaded 
to  pay  in  the  whole.  This  he  said  it  [would  be  dan]gerous  to  propose, 
because  the  offering  to  accept  [a  part]  might  be  interpreted  by  them  the 
giving  up  a  right  [to  the  whole],  and  that  such  an  offer  should  come 
from  them  and  not  from  [your]  Agents.  The  old  Earl  has  been  enquiring 
and  rum[inating?]  much  about  these  affairs,  but  with  what  intention,  [or 
with]  any  or  not  I  do  not  know.     This  I  know,  that  if  you  do  not  take 

^  Biog.  Brit.  vol.  III. — 'Addenda.'  Durham,  and  one  of  the  king's  chaplains. 

.    ^^  Berkeley  Papers.     Benson  was  at  this       Seeker  had  married  his  sister, 
time    archdeacon   of  Berks,  prebendary   of 


hfi  A  Recluse  in  Rhode  Island.  1 7 1 

to  return  an  answer  to  the  Qqery  I  sent  you  enclosed  in  my  former 
|per  to  jOQ  (wliicb  I  hope  came  safe  to  your  hands),  you  will  be  as 
out  ofdM  good  graces  of  the  Earl  as  you  are  in  them  now.  I  have 
been  wanting  to  say  everything  wh.  I  thought  might  be  proper  in 
to  promote,  and  to  be  silent  about  ever3rthing  which  I  feared  might 
jour  good  designs.  As  the  Master  of  the  Rolls  ^  seems  very 
aActed  towards  you,.  I  have  [talked]  a  good  deal  with  him,  but  as 
told  me  the  affidr  of  [Rhode  Is]]and  would  be  brought  before  th^ 
I  have  [been  very]  cautious  since  in  dropping  anything  of 
.  •  settling  widiin  yt  Government  So  great  is  the  [prejudice  of?] 
men,  that  a  Certain  wise  gentleman  told  [me  he  was]  persuaded 
yoa  acted  in  concert  widi  die  [men  of]  New  England,  and  was 
the  opposition  [there]  to  settling  a  salary  on  the  Govemour. 
so  [  ]  interestedness  of  others,  that  the  good,  example  they  hear 
Lady  is  setting  of  beginning  a  manufacture  which  herself  will  wear, 
look  upon  as  a  dangerous  precedent,  and  what  may  prove  in  tiine 
to  ^  manu&ctures  of  England.  Thus  you  see  your  company 
your  designs  are  not  incon»derable  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  I 
you  in  my  other  letter  that  there  is  a  likelihood  of  Dr.  Clayton's 
made  a  6p.  in  Ireland ,  and  by  this  means  of  that  being  realy 
compass'd  by  his  mea[ns]  which  you  projected  in  relation  to  another 
person.  The  [Clerk?]  of  the  Council,  to  shew  you  that  the  highest 
honours  cannot  secure  men  from  sickness  and  human  infirmities,  [is]  so 
mortified  by  a  very  severe  fit  of  Rheumatism,  and  he  is  so  much  humbled 
tiat  he  ac[tually  was]  sworn  in  my  Official  of  the  Archdeaconry  of  Berks. 
[I  have  no]  private  news  to  write  you,  and  I  wish  I  could  send  any  publick 
dbt  is  good,  but  those  wise  heads  which  [might  be  our  de]  fence  against 
cvfls  which  might  arise  from  your  going  to  Bermuda  have  not  been 
[aware  of  those  ?]  which  were  before  their  eyes,  and  which  we  are  now  so 
[much  in  danjger  of  feeling  that  war  is  ready  everywhere. 

I  am  going  to  Durham  in  a  few  days,  and  propose  to  [stay  there] 
some  months.  My  Brother  Seeker,  Dr.  Rundle  **,  &c.  are  there.  I  [am] 
much  delighted  to  hear  of  your  health.  I  am  desir'd  from  Ld.  Pomfret, 
the  Bp.  of  Durham  'S  and  many  other  places  and  persons,  to  make  their 
compliments  to  you,  and  I  desire  you  to  make  mine  to  James,  Dicky  ^, 
and  Smibert,  and  to  the  ladies  too,  for  I  look  [on  them  as]  my  acquaint- 
As  Dicky  is  my  vassal,  my  r[egal  privileges]  will  extend  to  all  his 


Sir  Joseph  Jekyll,   to  whom  Butler's  ^  Dr.  Rundle  was  then  a  prebendary  at 

are  dedicated.     He  was  Master  of       Durham. 
the  Rolls  1 7 1 7 — 1 738.  "  Bishop  Talbot. 

^  Richard  Dalton. 


172  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

possessions  however  far  he  flies  from  me,  and  therefore  [I  consider 
myself]  a  party  concerned  in  the  title  he  is  making  out  to  his  nev 
purchase. 

Dear  Mr.  Dean,  I  have  nothing  more  to  add  at  present,  than 
wishing  health  to  yourselves  and  prosperity  to  all  your  designs.  Yoa 
need,  you  can  say  nothing  more  to  recommend  Rhode  Island  and 
make  me  wish  myself  there,  than  that  you  are  there  and  the  good 
company  with  you.  1 

I  am,  Dear  Mr.  Dean, 

With  the  greatest  esteem  and  truest  affection, 

Your  most  sincere  and  faithful  friend  and  servant, 

M.  6. 

Londan^June  23,  1729. 

Sir  John  ^  has  a  project  for  propagating  a  race  of  blacks  in  Europe^ 
which  I  suppose  he  has  communicated  to  you. 

And  here  is  a  letter  from  Berkeley  to  Prior,  which  contains  a 

pleasant  family  picture : — 

I 

Rhode  Island^  March  9,  1730. 
Dear  Tom, 

Mt  situation  hath  been  so  uncertain,  and  is  like  to  continue  so  till  I 
am  clear  about  the  receipt  of  his  Majesty's  bounty,  and,  in  consequence 
thereof,  of  the  determination  of  my  associates,  that  you  are  not  to  wonder  - 
at  my  having  given  no  categorical  answer  to  the  proposal  you  made  in  . 
relation  to  Hamilton's  Deanery,  which  his  death  hath  put  an  end  \oT*  I 
If  I  had  returned,  I  should  perhaps  have  been  under  some  temptation  10  { 
have  changed ;  but  as  my  design  still  continues  to  wait  the  event,  and  go 
to  Bermuda  as  soon  as  I  can  get  associates  and  money  (which  my  friends 
are  now  soliciting  in  London),  I  shall  in  such  case  persist  in  my  first  • 
resolution  of  not  holding  any  Deanery  beyond  the  limited  time. 

I  long  to  hear  what  success  you  have  had  in  the  law-suit.    Your 
account  of  the  income  of  the  Deanery  last  paid  in  is  come  to  my  hands.  \ 
I  remember  that  one  of  Mrs.  Van  Homrigh's  creditors  (I  think  a  stay- 
maker)  was  in  France,  and  so  missed  of  payment.    I  should  be  glad  yon  j 
could  find  some  way  of  paying  him,  and  any  others  if  you  find  anything  j 

^  Sir  John  Rawdon  (?).  died  in  1729.     See  Cotton's  Patti^  toI.  IlL 

*^    John  Hamihon,   Dean  of  Dromore,       p.  293.    Of.  note,  p.  163. 


ir.]  A  Recluse  in  Rhode  Islands  173 

idU  due,  even  during  the  minorities  of  the  young  ladies,  if  in  books  of 
iccount  charged  to  their  credit.  I  suppose  Mr.  Marshall  will  agree  to 
lus ;  but  whether  he  doth  or  no,  I  think  it  should  be  done.  I  do  there- 
bre  leave  that  matter  to  be  fully  accomplished  by  you  as  you  can  find 
ipportunity,  as  perhaps  some  affair  might  call  you  to  London,  or  you  may 
some  friend  there :  for,  in  the  hurry  of  things,  I  should  be  sorry  to 
overlooked  any,  or  that  any  should  suffer  who  should  make  out 
iicir  pretensions  since.  I  now  call  to  mind  that  for  this  reason  I  with- 
idd  that  forty  pounds  which  was  paid  Mr.  Marshall  when  I  was  in 
Dablin ;  but  this  was  then  out  of  my  thoughts,  or  I  should  not  have 
ordered  the  payment  thereof.  I  agree  to  what  you  propose  about  paying 
Fine/s  son,  since  it  is  agreeable  to  Mr.  Marshall. 

I  live  here  upon  land  that  I  have  purchased,  and  in  a  farm-house  that 
1  have  built  in  this  island.  It  is  fit  for  cows  and  sheep,  and  may  be  of 
good  use  for  supplying  our  College  at  Bermuda. 

Among  my  delays  and  disappointments,  I  thank  God  I  have  two 
domestic  comforts  that  are  very  agreeable,  my  wife  and  my  little  son ; 
loth  which  exceed  my  expectations,  and  fully  answer  all  my  wishes.  My 
life  gives  her  service  to  you ;  and,  at  her  request,  I  must  desire  you  to 
pay,  on  my  account,  two  guineas  yearly  to  her  brother's  wife",  towards 
&c  support  of  a  young  girl,  child  of  my  wife's  nurse.  The  girl's  name 
is  Betty  Smith.  Mrs.  Forster  lives  in  Henry-slreet.  As  this  is  a  piece 
of  charity,  I  am  sure  you  will  not  neglect  it. 

I  must  also  desire  that  out  of  the  next  pajmient  made  by  M'Manus, 
you  give  one  hundred  pounds  to  brother  Robin,  to  be  disposed  of  by  him 
as  I  have  directed,  in  pursuance  of  a  letter  I  had  from  him ;  and  that  the 
rest  be  paid  in  to  Swift  and  Company. 

Mr.  James,  Dalton,  and  Smibert,  &c.,  are  at  Boston,  and  have  been 
Acre  for  several  months.  My  wife  and  I  abide  by  Rhode  Island,  pre- 
ferring quiet  and  solitude  to  the  noise  of  a  great  town,  notwithstanding 
aD  the  solicitations  that  have  been  used  to  draw  us  thither.  No  more  at 
present  but  that  I  am,  dear  Tom,  your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

GEOR.  BERKELEY. 

As  to  what  you  ask  about  my  companions,  they  are  all  at  Boston,  and 
have  been  there  these  four  months,  preferring  that  noisy  town  to  this 
peaceful  retreat  which  my  wife  and  I  enjoy  in  Rhode  Island.  Being  in 
1  hurry,  I  have  writ  the  same  thing  twice. 

I  have  desired  M'Manus,  in  a  letter  to  Dr.  Ward,  to  allow  twenty 

■  Mri.  Berkeley's  brother  George  married  a  daughter  of  Sir  Abraham  Elton,  Bart. 


1 74  I^if^  ^^d  Letters  of  Berietiy.  [Ch. 

pounds  per  annum  for  me,  towards  the  poor-house  now  oti  foot  for 
clergymen's  wdows,  in  the  diocese  of  Deny. 

Soon  after  his  arrival  at  Newport,  Berkeley  was  visited  by  the 
Reverend  Samuel  Johnson,  the  episcopal  missionary  at  Stratford, 
one  of  the  most  learned  scholars  and  acute  thinkers  of  his  time  in 
America  2^.    His  name  must  always  be  associated  with  Berkeley's. 

Mr.  Johnson  was  then  about  thirty  years  of  age.  He  was  born 
at  Guildford  in  Connecticut.  His  father  and  grandfather  were 
deacons  in  the  Congregational  Church  of  that  town,  Congrega- 
tionalism being  the  form  of  ecclesiastical  polity  established  in 
the  New  England  colonies.  He  graduated  at  Yale  College  in 
1714,  and  was  a  tutor  there  from  1716  till  1719.  He  also 
officiated  as  pastor  at  Westhaven.  By  reading  the  works  of 
eminent  Anglican  divines,  and  after  many  conferences  among 
themselves.  Cutler,  then  Rector  of  Yale  College,  Johnson,  and 
some  other  ministers,  were  led,  about  1722,  to  doubt  the  validity  of 
Presbyterian  ordination,  and  the  expediency  of  extempore  common- 
prayer.  They  soon  announced  their  new  convictions,  and  cast  in 
their  lot  with  the  Church  of  Hooker,  Cud  worth,  and  Barrow.  The 
Church  of  England  had  at  that  time  hardly  any  existence  in  Con- 
necticut. Cutler,  Johnson,  and  Brown  now  resigned  their  offices 
in  the  College,  and  their  pastoral  charges  in  the  neighbourhood,  in 
order  to  connect  themselves  with  its  communion.  In  1722,  they 
crossed  the  ocean,  to  obtain  episcopal  ordination  in  England.  They 
were  welcomed  by  the  ecclesiastical  dignitaries  and  at  the  two 
Universities.  Johnson  is  said  to  have  visited  Pope  at  his  villa,  who 
gave  him  cuttings  from  his  Twickenham  willow.  These  he  carried 
from  the  banks  of  the  Thames,  and  planted  on  the  wilder  banks 
of  his  own  beautiful  river  at  Stratford  in  Connecticut,  when 
he  was  settled  there  in  November  I72<7. 

The  Principles  of  Human  Knowledge  had  early  fallen  into 
Johnson's  hands,  and  he  had  in  consequence  formed  a  high  notion 
of  Berkeley's  philosophical  genius  and  aims.  He  hastened  to 
wait  upon  him  as  soon  as  he  heard  of  his  arrival  in  Rhode  Island. 
A  correspondence  and  a  succession  of  visits  followed.     It  docs  not 

*  Sec   Dr.  Chandler's    Life    of  Samuel      memoir,    by   Dr.  Bcardsley  of  Newhaven, 
JohmoHt  DJ).^  published  in  America  early       may  be  looked  for. 
in  the  present  century.    A  more  satisfactory 


'J 


A   Recluse  in  Rhode  Island. 


'75 


appear  that  Berkeley  ever  went  to  Stratford,  but  Johnson  more  than 
once  visited  Whitehall,  and  had  philosophical  and  theological  diffi- 
culties removed  by  a  more  original  and  experienced  mind.  He  was 
a  convert  to  the  New  Principle,  which  he  regarded,  when  rightly 
understood,  as  the  true  philosophical  support  of  faith.  The  denial 
of  the  absolute  existence  of  Matter,  a  whimsical  paradox  to  the 
superficial  thinker,  he  found  to  mean  nothing  more  than  a  denial 
of  an  inconceivable  substratum  of  sensible  phenomena.  The  affir- 
mation of  the  merely  relative  existence  of  sensible  things  was  to 
him  the  affirmation  of  orderly  combinations  of  sensible  pheno- 
mena, in  which  our  corporeal  pains  and  pleasures  were  determined 
by  Divine  Ideas  that  are  the  archetypes  of  physical  existence. 
This  conception  of  the  universe,  habitually  kept  before  him,  seemed 
to  Johnson  more  apt  than  any  other  system  to  harmonize  with  our 
individual  dependence  on  the  Supreme  Mind  or  Will,  perpetually 
present  and  perpetually  active.  In  his  own  works  he  adopted  and 
applied  this  philosophy,  with  a  force  and  clearness  which  entitle 
him  to  an  eminent  place  among  the  thinkers  of  America™. 


■■  More  than  tircnty  ycait  ■Aer  ihit.  in 
f;ji,  a  (olume  entitled  Elenama  Pbilo- 
HfMco,  wiitien  by  Jobnini,  was  priated 
hf  Boijamin  Fnnklin,  u  Philadelphia.  It 
trmfiflt  of  Iiro  iiealiKi — Notlica,  or  Tbiitgt 
Ttlauiig  M  ibt  Mind  or  Vadinlmding ; 
■od  Eibica,  or  Tbmgi  rtlatiitg  nj  (Iw  Moral 
Ikbnmomr.  The  volume  it  dedicated  to 
fkfkelcjr.  It  ii  eatieniely  rare,  unknovn 
la  All  Kdunuy,  and  hanJIy  to  be  found 
hi  Ameiica  ;  I  am  indebt«)  foi  the  ute 
of  >  copy  to  the  kindneu  of  Mr.  Sibley, 
tlw  libnnan  of  Maivitd  College.  1 
noke  no  apology  fui  giiing  the  follow- 
In*  vxtraett  tirnn  the  A'wica,  iUuilntive 
M  Jofanioo'i  ialcilectnal  relitiont  to  Bci- 
kclcTt— 

■Tbc  word  Mind  or  Spirit  lignifiei  any 
imfiBieint  aciivt  Mug:   which   --' 

(dres .      And  by  reaianing  and  analogy 

tFOll  onf»el*«.  we  apply  it  to  til  other  minds 
Of  intdUgcnces  bciidei  or  tuperior  to  m; 
mJ  (remoring  all  liroilationi  and  impci- 
tretient)  we  apply  tt  even  to  that  Great 
Supreme  Intriligence.  whn  ii  the  DniTenal 
PUHII  or  all  cmted  (piiiu,  and  (>o  Tar  ai 
out  words  or  conceptions  can  go)  may  be 
deSned,  an  Infinite  Mind  or  Spirit.'  (p.  i.) 
'The  immediate  object  of  on  peiceptions  and 
sclkmi  we  call  idiai :  as  Ihli  word  hii  been 


commonly  uted  by  the  modems,  with  whom 
it  itgniltes  any  immediate  object  of  the  mind 
in  thinking,  whether  sensible  or  intellenuil, 
and  lo  i(  in  etject  synanymoiu  with  the  word 
iboagbl,  which  comprthendi  both.  Plato, 
indeed,  by  the  word  Idu  understood  the 
original  exemplii  of  Ihingt.  ■ 


I   Miui 


I  the 


abstract  cjsencn  of  things,  ai  being  Origi- 
nal! or  Atchetypu  in  that  Infinite  hitellect, 
of  which  our  ideas  or  conceptions  are  a  kind 
of  copies.    But  perhaps  it  may  be  best  lo 


irord    idia 


I    the   immediat 


object!  of  K 

the  word  HOiioH  or  cenapSon  lo  ligni^  the 
objects  of  conitiouinesi  or  pure  intellect  — 
though  both  of  them  may  be  expreited  by 
the  genera]  lemi  Ibaugbl'  (p.  3.)  'These 
idfoi,  or  objects  of  sense,  are  commonly 
juppoeed  to  be  pctures  ot  leprcienlitloni  of 
things  without  us.  and  indeed  external  to  any 
mind,  even  that  of  the  Deity  Hlmtelf;  and  ] 
the  truth  oi  reality  of  them  is  Cflnueicird  to 
consist  in  their  being  exact  pictures  of  ihingi 
or  objects  without  ui,  which  are  luppojed  to  bd 
the  real  things.   But,  a>  it  is  impossible  for  m 


176 


Life  apid  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


It  is  a  great  pity  that  most  of  Berkeley's  many  letters  to  Johnson 
have  been  lost,  as  some  fragments  which  have  been  preserved  are 
of  more  interest  to  the  metaphysician  than  any  others  in  his 
correspondence.  I  am  indebted  to  Mr.  Gilman,  of  Yale  College, 
for  the  following,  one  of  the  few  that  have  been  rescued : — 

Reverend  Sir, 

Yours  of  Feb.  5th  came  not  to  my  hands  before  yesterday;  and  this 
afternoon,  being  informed  that  a  sloop  is  ready  to  sail  towards  your  town, 
I  would  not  let  slip  the  opportunity  of  returning  you  an  answer,  though 
wrote  in  a  huny. 

I.  I  have  no  objection  against  calling  the  Ideas  in  the  mind  of  God 
archetypes  of  ours.  But  I  object  against  those  archetypes  by  philosophers 
supposed  to  be  real  things,  and  to  have  an  absolute  rational  existence 
distinct  from  their  being  perceived  by  any  mind  whatsoever ;  it  being  the 


this  notion  of  them  will  lead  us  into  an  in- 
extricable scepticism.  I  am  therefore  apt 
to  think  that  these  idiras,  or  immediate  ob- 
jects of  sense,  are  tbt  reed  things ;  at  least, 
all  that  we  are  concerned  with— I  mean  of 
the  sensible  kind;  and  that  the  reality  of 
them  comists  in  their  stability  or  consistence, 
and  their  being,  in  a  stable  manner,  exhibited 
to  OUT  minds,  or  produced  in  them,  in  a 
steady  connexion  with  each  other,  con- 
formable to  certain  fixed  laws  of  nature, 
which  the  great  Father  of  Spirits  hath 
established  to  Himself,  according  to  which 
He  constantly  affects  our  minds,  and  from 
which  He  will  not  vary,  unless  upon  extra- 
ordinary occasions,  as  in  the  case  of  miracles. 
Thus,  for  instance,  there  is  a  fixed,  stable 
connexion  between  things  tangible  and 
things  visible  or  the  immediate  objects  of 
touch  and  sight, — depending,  as  I  conceive, 
immediately  upon  the  permanent,  most  wise 
and  almighty  will  of  the  great  Creator  and 
Preserver  of  the  world.  By  this,  however,  it 
is  not  meant  that  visible  objects  are  pictures 
of  tangible  objects,  for  they  are  entirely 
different  and  distinct  things ;  as  different  as 
the  sound  triangle,  and  the  figures  signified 
by  it.  All  that  can  be  meant  by  it  there- 
fore is,  that,  as  tangible  things  are  the 
things  immediately  capable  of  producing  (or 
rather  being  attended  with)  sensible  pleasure 
and  pain  in  us,  according  to  the  present  laws 
of  our  nature,  on  account  of  which  they  are 
conceived  as  being  properly  the  real  things ; 
so,  the  immediate  objects  of  sight  are  always, 


by  the  same  stable  hw  of  our  nature,  ood- 
nected  with  them,  as  signs  of  them,  and  ever 
correqwndent  and  proportioned  to  them. . . . 
Not  that  it  is  to  be  doubted  that  there  ait 
Archetypes  of  these  sensible  ideas,  but  existing 
external  to  our  minds ;  but  then  they  must 
exist  in  some  other  mutd,  and  be  itUas  also 
as  well  as  ours ;  because  an  idea  can  resem- 
ble nothing  but  an  idea,  and  an  idea  ever 
implies,  in  the  very  nature  of  it,  relation  to 
a  mind  perceiving  it,  or  in  which  it  exists. 
But  then,  those  Archet3rpes  or  Originals, 
and  the  manner  of  their  existence  in  that 
Eternal  Mind,  must  be  entirely  different  from 
that  of  their  existence  in  our  minds ;  as 
difierent  as  the  manner  of  His  existence  is 
from  ours.  In  Him,  they  must  exist  as  in 
Original  Intellect;  in  us,  only  by  way  of 
Sense  and  Imagination ;  in  Him  as  Originals, 
in  us  only  as  faint  copies ;  such  as  He  thinks 
fit  to  communicate  to  us,  according  to  sudi 
laws  and  limitations  as  He  hath  established, 
and  such  as  are  sufficient  to  all  the  purposes 
of  our  wellbeing,  in  which  only  we  are  con- 
cerned. Our  ideas,  therefore,  can  no  other- 
wise be  said  to  be  images  or  copies  of  their 
Archetjrpes  in  the  Eternal  Mind,  than  as  our 
souls  are  said  to  be  images  of  Him,  or  as 
we  are  said  to  be  made  after  His  image.* 
(3 — 9.)  The  part  of  the  Noetiea  which  deals 
with  the  pure  Intellect  and  its  notions,  and 
with  intuitive  Intellectual  Light,  is  more 
akin  to  Plato  and  Malebranche,  and  even 
Kant,  than  to  Berkeley's  early  phflosophical 
works. 


^»1  "  v^  RiilMU  m  Itkcde Island.  ijf 

opkikm  ofaBMlcruilmte  diat  an  ideal  ejost^ice  in  the  tMvine  Iffind  is 
(»e  tldog,  aiid  the  real  existence  of  material  things  an^ 

a.  As  to  Space.  I  have  no  nc^cm  of  any  but  that  whfdi  is  relative. 
I  know  some  hte  philosophers  have  attributed  extension  to  God,  par-' 
ticnlariy  adathematidans,  one  rfwbom,  in  a  treatise  JE^  Spaho  Redh\ 
pietends  to  find  out  fifteen  of  the  inoommunieable  attributes  of  God  in 
^pace.  But  U  seans  to  me  that  diey  all  being  negative,  he  might  as- 
well  have  found  diem  in  Nothing.  And  that  it  would  have  been  as  jufitty. 
inferred  firom  ^»ce  being  impassive,  uncreated,  indivisible,  ftc,  diat  if 
waa  Nodiing  as  diat  it  was  God. 

Sir  Isaac  Newton  suj^iosedi  an  absohite  Space,  different  fix>m  rdative, 
and  consequent  thereto ;  absolute  Motion  different  from  relative  motion ;  • 
and  wUh  all  other  madiematidans  he  supposed!  die  infinite  divisibility  of 
die  dnile  parts  of  this  absohite  Space;  he  also  supposeth  material  bodies 
to  drift  thernn.  Now,  diough  I  do  acknowledge  Sir  Isaac  to  have  been- 
sn  extvaofdinary  man,  and  most  profound  mathematician,  yet  I  cannot 
agree  widi  Um  in  these  particulars.  I  make  no  scruple  to  use  the  word' 
%«6e^  as  wdl  as.  all  other  words  in  common  use ;  but  I  do  iiot  thereto 
mspi  p  distinct  absolute  beii^.  For  ngr  meaning  I  refer  ^ou  to  v^iat  ? 
ham  pnbKdied* 

By  the  *  *  «  I  suppose  that  all  things,  past  and  to  come,  are  actuaUjr" 
present  to  the  mind  of  God,  and  that  there  is  in  Him  no  change,  varia- 
tion, or  succession.  A  succession  of  ideas  I  take  to  constitute  Time,  and 
not  to  be  only  the  sensible  measure  thereof,  as  Mr.  Locke  and  others 
think.  But  in  these  matters  every  man  is  to  think  for  himself,  and  speak 
as  he  finds.  One  of  my  earliest  inquiries  was  about  Time,  which  led  me 
into  several  paradoxes,  that  I  did  not  think  fit  or  necessary  to  publish ; 
particularly  the  notion  that  the  Resurrection  follows  the  next  moment  to 
death.  We  are  confounded  and  perplexed  about  Time, — (i)  Supposing 
a  succession  in  God;  (2)  conceiving  that  we  have  an  abstract  idea  of 
Time ;  (3)  supposing  that  the  Time  in  one  mind  is  to  be  measured  by 
the  succession  of  ideas  in  another;  (4)  not  considering  the  true  use  and 
end  of  words,  which  as  often  terminate  in  the  will  ^  as  in  the  under- 
standing. 

3.  That  the  soul  of  man  is  passive  as  well  as  active,  I  make  no  doubt. 
Abstract  general  ideas  was  a  notion  that  Mr.  Locke  held  in  common  with 
th6  schoolmen,  and  I  think  all  other  philosophers ;  it  runs  through  his 
whole  book  of  Human  Understanding.     He  holds  an  abstract  idea  of 

"  Dt'Spaeio  Realty  $eu  tntt  Infinito:  elsewhere  a  doctrine  regarding  mysteries  is 
Comamen  Math,  Mttapb.  (1706).  proposed  that  is  not  unlike  Kant's  regulative 

*  See  Alciptron,  Dial.  VII.,  where  and       ideas  of  reason,  and  practical  postulates. 

VOL.  IV.  N 


1 78  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

Existence,  exclusive  of  perceiving  and  being  perceived.  I  cannot  find  I 
have  any  such  idea,  and  this  is  my  reason  against  it  Des  Cartes  proceeds 
upon  other  principles.  One  square  foot  of  snow  is  as  white  as  a  thousand 
yards ;  one  single  perception  is  as  truly  a  perception  as  one  hundred. 
Now,  any  degree  of  perception  being  sufficient  to  Existence,  it  will  not 
follow  that  we  should  say  one  existed  more  at  one  time  than  another,  any 
more  than  we  should  say  a  thousand  yards  of  snow  are  whiter  than  one 
yard.  But,  after  all,  this  comes  to  a  verbal  dispute.  I  think  it  might 
prevent  a  good  deal  of  obscurity  and  dispute  to  examine  well  what  I 
have  said  about  abstraction,  and  about  the  true  sense  and  significance  of 
words,  in  several  parts  of  these  things  that  I  have  published  ",  though 
much  remains  to  be  said  upon  that  subject 

You  say  you  agree  with  me  that  there  is  nothing  within  your  mind 
but  God  and  other  spirits,  with  the  attributes  or  properties  belonging  to 
them,  and  the  ideas  contained  in  them. 

This  is  a  principle  or  main  point,  from  which,  and  from  what  I  had 
laid  down  about  abstract  ideas,  much  may  be  deduced.  But  if  in  eveiy 
inference  we  should  not  agree,  so  long  as  the  main  points  are  settled  and 
well  understood,  I  should  be  less  solicitous  about  particular  conjectures. 
I  could  wish  that  all  the  things  I  have  published  on  these  philosophical 
subjects  were  read  in  the  order  wherein  I  published  them,  and  a  second 
time  with  a  critical  eye,  adding  your  own  thought  and  observation  upon 
every  part  as  you  went  along. 

I  send  you  herewith  the  bound  books  and  one  unbound.  You  will 
take  yourself  what  you  have  not  already — ^you  will  give  the  Prtncipies^ 
the  Theory,  and  the  Dialogues^  one  of  each,  with  my  service,  to  the  gen- 
tleman who  is  Fellow  of  Newhaven  College,  whose  compliments  you 
brought  to  me.    What  remains  you  will  give  as  you  please. 

If  at  any  time  your  affairs  should  draw  you  into  these  parts,  you  shall 
be  very  welcome  to  pass  as  many  days  as  you  can  spend  at  my  house* 
Four  or  five  days'  conversation  would  set  several  things  in  a  fuller  and 
clearer  light  than  writing  could  do  in  as  many  months.  In  the  mean- 
time, I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  from  you  or  your  friends,  whenever 
you  please  to  favour. 

Reverend  Sir, 

Your  very  humble  servant, 
GEORGE  BERKELEY. 


**  Sec.  in  pirticular,  the  Introduction  to       Appendix  to  the  first  rolome  of  this  editioi 
the  Principles  of  Human  Knowledge;  also       of  Berkeley's  Worh, 


A  Rechise  in  Rhode  Island. 


179 


Praj-  let  me  Udow  whether  they  would  admit  the  writings  of  Hooker 
id  Cbillittgv,-orih  into  the  Library  of  the  Coliege  in  Newhaven  •*. 
Hittdt  Itiemd,  March  34,  1730. 

The  (blloring  fragment  of  a  Icrtter  to  Johnson,  without  date,  but 
\y  written  about  this  time,  is  contained  in  the  Appendix  to 
Ittiullcr^  Lifr  of  Johnson  : — 

.  It  ia  a  common  fault  for  men  to  hate  opposition,  and  to  be  too 
1  wedded  to  their  own  opinions.     1  am  so  sensible  of  this  in  others 
I  could  not  pardon  it  to  myself,  if  I  considered  mine  any  further 
ibey  seem  to  me  to  be  true ;    which  1  shall  be  the  better  able  to 
!  oS,  vhen  they  have  passed  the  scrutiny  of  persons  so  well  qualified 
them  as  you  and  yonr  friends  appear  to  be ;  to  whom  my 
it  be  an  apology  for  not  sending  this  answer  sooner. 
t.  The  true  use  and  end  of  Natural  Philosophy  is  10  explain  the  phe- 
of  nature,  which  is  done  by  discovering  the  laws  of  nature,  and 
particular  appearances  to  them.    This  is  Sir  Isaac  Newton's 
bod;  and  such  method  or  design  is  not  in  [he  least  inconsistent  with 
principles  I  lay  down.     This  mechanical  philosophy  doth  not  assign 
■Oppose  any  one  natural  efBcient  cause  in  the  strict  and  proper  sense; 
is  it,  as  to  its  use,  concerned  about  mailer;  nor  is  matter  connected 
isewitb;   nor  doth  it  infer  the  being  of  matter.     It  must  be  owned, 
lleed.  that  the  mechanical  philosophers  do  suppose  (litough  unneoes- 
)  ibe  being  of  matter.     They  do  even  pretend  to  demonstrate  that 
»  b  proportional  to  graviiy,  which,  if  they  could,  this  indeed  would 
■h  an  unanswerable  objection.     But  let  us  examine  their  demon- 
It  is  laid  down  in  the  first  place,  that  the  momentum  of  any 
|dy  is  the  product  of  its  quantity  by  its  velocity,  moles  in  ctltritaltm 
t.     If,  therefore,  the  velocity  is  given,  the  momentum  will  be  as  its 
itily.     But  it  is  observed  that  bodies  of  all  kinds  descend  in  vacuo 
ibe  same  velocity ;   therefore  the  momentum  of  descending  bodies 
in  the  quantit>-  or  moles,  >'.  e.  gravity  is  as  matter.     But  this  argument 
nothing,  and  is  a  mere  circle.    For,  I  ask.  when  it  Is  premised 
ibc  momentum  is  equal  to  the  molts  in  celerilalem  dtuta,  bow  the 
i  or  quantity  of  matter  is  estimated.    If  you  say,  by  extent,  the  pro- 
ion  b  not  true;   if  by  weight,  then  you  suppose  that  the  quantity  of 


I 


Ht  ttSm  10  *  tuppiNMl  Puriu 
ta.  wUA  miglil  hare  b«n  (tren^ 
^  ■  ■         1    of    John™    « 

CoDftrigationiliit 


prt- 


mity.  » 


I   ihc  fini   of   mill 


1 80  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ca 

matter  is  proportional  to  matter:  1.  e,  the  conclu»on  is  taken  for  granted 
in  one  of  the  premises.  As  for  absohite  q;>ace  and  motion,  which  arc 
also  supposed  without  any  necessity  or  use,  I  refer  you  to  what  I  have 
abready  published ;  particularly  in  a  Latin  treatise,  De  Mahi^  which  I  shall 
take  care  to  send  to  you. 

a.  Cause  is  taken  in  different  senses.  A  proper  active  efficient  cause 
I  can  conceive  none  but  Spirit ;  nor  any  action,  strictly  speaking,  but 
where  there  is  Will.  But  this  doth  not  hinder  the  allowing  occasional 
causes  (which  are  in  truth  but  signs),  and  more  is  not  requisite  in  the 
best  physics,  f'.  e,  the  mechanical  philosophy.  Neither  doth  it  hinder  the 
admitting  other  causes  besides  God ;  such  as  spirits  of  different  orden, 
which  may  be  termed  active  causes,  as  acting  indeed,  though  by  limited 
and  derivative  powers.  But  as  for  an  unthinking  agent,  no  point  of 
physics  is  explained  by  it,  nor  is  it  conceivable. 

3.  Those  who  have  all  along  contended  for  a  material  worid  have 
yet  acknowledged  that  natura  naiurans  (to  use  the  language  of  the 
schoolmen)  is  God ;  and  that  the  divine  conservation  of  things  is  equi- 
pollent to,  and,  in  fact,  the  same  thing  with  a  continued  repeated 
creation :  in  a  word,  that  conservation  and  creation  differ  only  in  the 
terminus  a  quo.     These  are  the  common  opinions  of  the  schoohnen; 
and  Durandus,  who  held  the  world  to  be  a  machine  like  a  clock,  made 
and  put  in  motion  by  God,  but  afterwards  continuing  to  go  of  itself, 
was  therein  particular,  and  had  few  followers.    The  very  poets  teach  a 
doctrine  not  imlike  the  schools, — Mem  agUai  molem.    (Viig.  JSneid  VI.) 
The  Stoics  and  Platonists  are  everywhere  full  of  the  same  notion.    I 
am  not  therefore  singular  in  this  point  itself,  so  much  as  in  my  way  of 
proving  it     Further,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  power  and  wisdom  of  God 
are  as  worthily  set  forth  by  supposing  him  to  act  inmiediately  as  an  omni- 
present infinitely  active  spirit,  as  by  supposing  him  to  act  by  the  media- 
tion  of  subordinate  causes,  in  preserving  and  governing  the  natural 
world.    A  clock  may  indeed  go  independent  of  its  maker  or  artificer, 
inasmuch  as  the  gravitation  of  its  pendulum  proceeds  from  another 
cause,  and  that  the  artificer  is  not  the  adequate  cause  of  the  clock ;  so 
that  the  analogy  would  not  be  just  to  suppose  a  clock  is  in  respect  of  its 
artist  what  the  world  is  in  respect  of  its  Creator.    For  aught  I  can  see, 
it  is  no  disparagement  to  the  perfections  of  God  to  say  that  all  things 
necessarily  depend  on  him  as  their  Conservator  as  well  as  Creator,  and 
that  all  nature  would  shrink  to  nothing,  if  not  upheld  and  preserved  in 
being  by  the  same  force  that  first  created  it.     This  I  am  sure  is  agree- 
able to  Holy  Scripture,  as  well  as  to  the  writings  of  the  most  esteemed 
philosophers;  and  if  it  is  to  be  considered  that  men  make  use  of  tools 


V.}  A  Recluse  in  Rhode  Island.  i8x 

and  madrfnifs  to  vaofplj  defect  rfpower  in  themselves,  we  shall  think  it 
ao  honoar  to  the  diriid^  to  attribute  such  things  to  him; 

4.  As  to  guilt,  it  is  the  same  thing  whether  I  kill  a  mstn  with  my 
haadsoraninstrament;  whether  I  do  it  myself  or  make  use  of  a  nifiSan« 
The  isaqpatatioa  diereibre  iqx>n  ttie  sanctity  of  God  is  equal,  wheth^ 
we  sqqpose  our  sensations  to  be  produced  immediately  by  God,  or  by 
die  mediation  of  instruments  and  subordinate  causes,  all  which  are  his 
creature^  and  moved  by  his  laws.  This  theobgical  consideradon^^ 
dKidbfe,  nmy  be  waved,  as  leading  beside  the  question;  for  such  I 
bold  aH  points  to  be  which  bear  equally  hard  on  both  sides  of  it 
Difficdities  about  the  prindple  of  moral  actions  will  cease,  if  we  conader 
that  aO  ginlt  is  in  the  will,  and  that  our  ideas,  from  whatever  cause  they 
aie  proAiced,  are  aUke  inert 

5.  As  to  the  art  and  contrivance  in  the  parts  of  animals,  ftc,  I  have 
ooBsldeTed  that  matter  in  the  PrmcipUs  tf  Human  Knowledge^^  and,  if  I 
mistake  not,  suffidcaitly  shown  the  wisdom  and  use  thereof,  <x>nsidered 
aa  aigns  and  means  of  information.  I  do  not  indeed  wonder  that  on  first 
neadb^  what  I  have  written,  men  are  not  thoroughly  convinced  On 
die  oontrary,  I  should  very  orach  wcmder  if  prejudices,  which  have  be(^ 
naay  yean  taking  root,  should  be  extirpated  in  a  few  hours'  reading.  I 
had  no  inclination  to  trouble  the  world  with  large  volumes.  What  I 
have  done  was  rather  with  a  view  of  giving  hints  to  thinking  men,  who 
have  leisure  and  curiosity  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  things,  and  pursue 
them  in  their  own  minds.  Two  or  three  times  reading  these  small 
tracts,  and  making  what  is  read  the  occasion  of  thinking,  would,  I  be- 
lieve, render  the  whole  familiar  and  easy  to  the  mind,  and  take  off  that 
shocking  appearance  which  hath  often  been  observed  to  attend  specu- 
lative truths. 

6.  I  see  no  difficulty  in  conceiving  a  change  of  state,  such  as  is 
vulgarly  called  Death,  as  well  without  as  with  material  substance.  It 
is  suffident  for  that  purpose  that  we  allow  sensible  bodies,  1.  e.  such  as 
are  immediately  perceived  by  sight  and  touch ;  the  existence  of  which  I 
am  so  far  from  questioning  (as  philosophers  are  used  to  do),  that  I 
establish  it,  I  think,  upon  evident  principles.  Now,  it  seems  very  easy 
to  conceive  the  soul  to  exist  in  a  separate  state  (i*.  e,  divested  from  those 
limits  and  laws  of  motion  and  perception  with  which  she  is  embarrassed 
here),  and  to  exercise  herself  on  new  ideas,  without  the  intervention  of 
these  tangible  things  we  call  bodies.  It  is  even  very  possible  to  ap- 
prehend how  the  soul  may  have  ideas  of  colour  without  an  eye,  or  of 
sounds  without  an  ear 

*•  See  sect.  60—66. 


l82 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


New  England  at  this  time  possessed  in  Jonathan  Edwards  the 
most  subtle  reasoner  that  America  has  produced,  and  what  is  not 
generally  known,  an  able  defender  of  Berkelejr's  great  philoso- 
phical conception,  in  its  application  to  the  material  world. 
Edwards  was  born  in  1703,  at  Windsor  in  Connecticut,  and 
he  spent  a  youth  of  devout  meditation  there,  and  on  the  banks 
of  the  Hudson  river.  He  was  one  of  Johnson's  pupils  at  Yale 
College,  and  when  Berkeley  was  at  Rhode  Island,  Edwards  was 
a  pastor  at  Northampton  in  Massachusetts.  The  wonderful 
power  of  subtle  ratiocination,  and  the  sublimely  fervid  if  con- 
fined piety  of  this  extraordinary  man  have  left  their  mark  upon 
successive  generations  of  American  theologians.  His  celebrated 
Inquiry  into  the  Freedom  of  the  Will  did  not  appear  till  1754^  but 
it  is  in  his  earlier  writings  that  he  unfolds  his  views  about  the 
nature  of  sensible  things.  He  does  not  name  Berkeley,  and  it  is 
not  likely  that  they  ever  met^''. 


"  A  few  quotations  from  Jonathan  Ed- 
wards may  illustrate  what  I  have  said  :— 

*  When  we  say  that  the  world,  i.  §.  the 
material  universe,  exists  nowhere  but  in  the 
mind,  we  have  got  to  such  a  degree  of 
strictness  and  abstraction  that  we  must  be 
exceedingly  careful  that  we  do  not  confound 
and  lose  ourselves  by  misapprehension.  It 
is  impossible  that  it  should  be  meant  that 
all  the  world  is  conbiined  in  the  narrow 
compass  of  a  few  inches  of  space,  in  little 
ideas  in  the  place  of  the  brain ;  for  that 
would  be  a  contradiction;  for  we  are  to 
remember  that  the  human  body,  and  the 
brain  itself,  exist  only  mentally,  in  the  same 
sense  that  other  things  do ;  and  so  that 
which  we  call  place  is  an  idea  too.  There- 
fore things  are  truly  in  those  places ;  for 
what  we  mean,  when  we  say  so,  is  only, 
that  this  mode  of  our  idea  of  place  apper- 
tains to  such  an  idea.  We  would  not  there- 
fore be  understood  to  deny  that  things  are 
where  they  seem  to  be.  Nor  will  it  be 
found  that  the  principles  we  lay  down  shall 
make  void  Natural  Philosophy ;  for  to  find 
out  the  reasons  of  things  in  Natural  Philo- 
sophy is  only  to  find  out  the  proportion  of 
God's  acting.  And  the  case  is  the  same  as 
to  such  acting  whether  we  suppose  the  world 

only  mental  in  our  sense  or  no Place 

itself  is  only  mental ;  witbin  and  without  are 
there  mental  conceptions.  When  I  say,  the 
Material  Universe  exists  only  in  the  mind, 
I  mean,  that  it  is  absolutely  dependent  on 
the  conception  of  the  mind  for  its  existence ; 


and  does  not  exist  as  Spirits  do,  whote  exist* 
ence  does  not  consist  in,  nor  in  dependeooe 
on,  the  conceptions  of  other  minds,  w« 
must  be  exceedingly  careful  lest  we  con- 
found  ourselves  by  mere  imaginatioo.  It  ii 
from  hence  I  expect  the  greatest  oppositioo. 
It  will  appear  a  ridiculous  thing,  I  suppose, 
that  the  material  world  exists  nowhere  bat 
in  the  soul  of  man,  confined  within  hii 
skull;  but  we  must  again  remember  what 
sort  of  existence  the  head  and  brain  hav& 
The  soul,  in  a  sense,  has  its  feat  in  the 
brain ;  and  so,  in  a  sense,  the  visible  world 
is  existent  out  of  the  mind ;  for  it  certainly, 
in    the    proper  sense,   exists    oat    of  the 

brain Space  is  a  necessary  being,  if 

it  may  be  called  a  being ;  and  yet  we  have 
also  shown,  that  all  existence  is  mental,  that 
the  existence  of  all  exterior  things  is  idesL 
Therefore  it  is  a  necessary  being  only  as  it 
is  a  necessary  idea.  &c.'  See  Memoin  ^f 
Jonathan  Edwards^  by  Sereno  E.  Dwigbt— 
Appendix,  *  Remarks  in  Mental  Phlk>sopby.' 
The  conception  which  runs  through  tbM 
and  other  passages  blends  with  much  in  ^ 
later  theological  writings  of  Edwards.  Bot 
if  he  thus  agrees  with  Berkeley  in  his  ac- 
count  of  sensible  things,  they  separate  in 
their  theory  of  eausatioH  and  fit§-w3l. 
Free  agency,  which  is  iuTolved  ia  the  Dial- 
ism  of  Berkeley,  is  argued  against  by 
Edwards,  whose  speculative  theology  or 
philosophy  is  hardly  to  be  distinguished 
from  that  of  Spinoza.  Berkeleism  is  essen- 
tially a  philosophy  of  causation. 


vj  A  Recluse  in  Rhode  Island.  183  I 

But  we  must  return  from  philosophy  to  the  enterprise  which 
brought  Berkeley  to  his  seclusion  in  Rhode  Island.  The  Bermuda 
prospect  now  begins  to  darken,  even  to  his  eye.  There  arc 
gloomy  symptoms  in  the  following  letters  to  Prior,  in  May  and 
Juiy,  1730:— 

Dear  Tom, 

Last  week  I  received  a  packet  from  you  by  the  way  of  Philadelphia,  the 
postage  whereof  amounted  to  above  four  pounds  of  this  country  money. 
I  thank  you  for  the  enclosed  pamphlet",  which  in  the  main  I  think  very 
teuonablc  and  useful.  It  seems  to  me.  that  in  computing  the  sum-total 
of  the  loss  by  absentees,  you  have  extended  some  articles  beyond  the  due 
proponioo ;  f.  g.  when  you  charge  the  whoU  income  of  occasional  ab- 
wniees  in  the  third  class :  and  that  you  have  charged  some  articles  twice  ; 
t-g.  when  you  make  distinct  articles  for  law-suits  £9,000  and  for  attend- 
»»ee  for  employments  X8,ooo,  both  which  seem  already  charged  in  the 
third  class.  The  tax  you  propose  seems  very  reasonable,  and  I  wish  it 
nay  take  effect,  for  the  good  of  the  kingdom,  which  will  be  obliged  to 
5011  whenever  it  is  brought  about,  That  it  would  be  the  interest  of 
Ei^faind  to  allow  a  free  trade  to  Ireland,  I  have  been  thoroughly  con- 
liaccd  ever  since  my  being  in  Italy,  and  have  upon  all  occasions 
endeavoured  to  convince  English  gentlemen  thereof,  and  have  convinced 
■ome,  both  in  and  out  of  Parliament ;  and  I  remember  to  have  dis- 
cowsed  with  you  at  large  upon  this  subject  when  I  was  last  in  Ireland. 
Your  hinifi  for  setting  up  new  manufactures  seem  reasonable ;  but  the 
Ijnrit  of  projecting  is  low  in  Ireland. 

Now,  as  to  my  own  affair,  I  must  tell  you  that  I  have  no  intention  of 
coatinning  in  these  parts  but  in  order  to  settle  the  College  his  Majesty 
hath  been  pleased  to  found  at  Bermuda  ;  and  I  wait  only  the  payment  of 
the  king's  grant  to  transport  myself  and  family  thither.  I  am  now  em- 
plojing  the  interest  of  my  friends  in  England  for  that  purpose ;  and 
hn-e  wrote  in  the  most  pressing  manner  either  to  get  the  money  paid,  or 
at  least  to  get  a  p>osidve  answer  that  may  direct  me  what  course  I  am  to 
ake.  Dr.  Clayton  indeed  hath  wrote  me  word,  that  he  hath  been 
lolorTned  by  a  good  friend  of  mine  (who  had  it  from  a  very  great  man), 
tfaot  the  money  will  not  be  paid.  But  I  cannot  look  upon  a  hearsay,  at 
Mcood  or  third  hand,  to  be  a  proper  answer  for  me  to  act  upon,  I  have 
iberefore  suggested  to  the  Doctor,  that  he  ought  to  go  himself  with  the 

•  Priof'i  Liu  of  Oh  Ahunlai  of  Inland.       Iiioiielf  al  the   lipic  in  ■  jbitotte,"  uii  «> 
It  VM    pobUibcd  il  Dublin    in   i;i9,  ind       docHbed 
■  to  Loti  Cuterci,    Bnktlcy  w»i 


i 


I 


a 84  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [CH. 

letters-patent  containing  the  grant  in  his  hands,  to  the  Treasury,  and 
there  make  his  demand  in  form.  I  have  also  wrote  to  others  to  use  their 
interest  at  Court ;  though  indeed  one  would  have  thought  all  solicitation 
at  an  end  when  once  I  had  obtained  a  grant  under  his  Majesty's  hand 
and  the  broad  seal  of  England.  As  to  going  to  London  and  soliciting 
in  person,  I  think  it  reasonable  first  to  see  what  my  friends  can  do;  and 
the  rather  because  I  cannot  suppose  my  own  solicitations  will  be  more 
regarded  than  theirs.  Be  assured  I  long  to  know  the  upshot  of  this 
matter ;  and  that,  upon  an  explicit  refusal,  I  am  determined  to  return 
home ;  and  that  it  is  not  the  least  in  my  thoughts  to  continue  abroad 
and  hold  my  Deanery.  It  is  well  known  to  many  considerable  persons 
in  England,  that  I  might  have  had  a  dispensation  for  holding  it  for  life ; 
and  that  I  was  much  pressed  to  it,  but  I  resolutely  declined  it :  and  if  our 
design  of  a  College  had  taken  place  as  soon  as  I  once  hoped  it  would,  I 
should  have  resigned  before  this  time.  A  little  after  my  first  coming  to 
this  island,  I  entertained  some  thoughts  of  applying  to  his  Majesty  (when 
Dr.  Clayton  had  received  the  20,000  pounds,  the  patent  for  which  I  left 
with  him),  to  translate  our  College  hither ;  but  have  since  seen  cause  to 
lay  aside  all  thoughts  of  that  matter.  I  do  assure  you,  banafide^  that  I 
have  not  the  least  intention  to  stay  here  longer  than  I  can  get  a  clear 
answer  from  the  Government ;  for,  upon  all  private  accounts,  I  should 
like  Derry  better  than  New  England.  As  to  the  reason  of  my  coming  to 
this  island,  I  think  I  have  already  informed  you  that  I  have  been  at  great 
expence  in  purchasing  land  and  stock  here,  which  might  supply  the 
defects  of  Bermuda,  and  so  obviate  a  principal  objection  that  was  made 
to  placing  a  College  there.  To  conclude,  as  I  am  here  in  .order  U> 
execute  a  design  addressed  for  by  Parliament,  and  set  on  foot  by  hb 
Majesty's  royal  Charter,  I  think  myself  obliged  to  wait  the  event,  what- 
ever course  is  taken  in  Ireland  about  my  Deanery.  I  had  wrote  to  both 
the  bishops  of  Raphoe^  and  Derry ^ ;  but  letters  are  of  uncertain  passage. 
Yours  was  half  a  year  in  coming ;  and  I  have  had  some  a  year  after 
their  date,  though  oflen  in  two  months,  and  sometimes  less.  I  must  | 
desire  you  to  present  my  duty  to  both  their  Lordships,  and  acquaint 
them  with  what  I  have  now  wrote  to  you  in  answer  to  the  kind  message 
from  my  Lord  of  Derry,  conveyed  by  your  hands ;  for  which  I  return  my 
humble  thanks  to  your  Lordship. 

I  long  to  hear  the  success  of  our  law-suit  with  Partinton.     What  I 
hear  from  England  about  our  college-grant  you  shall  know. 

My  wife  gives  her  service  to  you.     She  hath  been  lately  ill  of  a  mis- 
carriage ;  but  is  now,  I  thank  God,  recovered.     Our  little  son  is  great 

*•  Bishop  Forstcr.  *•  Bishop  Downes. 


*-»    i"TP>^:j.^'"e^Mfr^„ 


IT  J  "A  R^hm  m  jRAode  Iskmd.  i%% 

jof  to  Ww    We  ase  sadi  fixds  as  to  tldiik  hfah  the  most  perfect  thing  we 

ew  sanr  in  ISm  kind.    I  mh  yoa  aB  happiness ;  and  remain,  dear  Tom, 

yows  aftytimiatriy, 

G.  BERKELEY. 

Ttis  is  a  dqpiKcale  of  a  letter  I  sent  yon  several  months  ago.  I  have 
not  innce  hafl  one  Hne  fiom  the  persons  I  had  wrote  to,  to  make  the  last 
w*ff*TK*^  for  die  20,000  pomids.  This  I  impute  to  an  accident  that  we 
hear  Ilaiqpened  to  a  man  of  war,  as  it  was  coming  down  the  river,  bound 
for  Boston,  where  it  was  expected  some  months  ago,  and  is  now  daily 
kxiked  for,  with  die  new  governor. 

The  new^Mipers  of  last  Febraaxy  mentionM  Dr.  Clayton's  being  made 
bidhbp.  I  widi  him  joy  of  his  preferment,  since  I  doubt  we  are  not 
Ekefy  to  see  him  in  this  part  of  the  world 

I  know  nol  how  to  account  for  my  not  hearing  that  the  dispute  with 
Futinton  »  finished  one  way  or  other  before  this  time. 

Nmpt^  vi  Rhodi  Island^  Jufy  20, 1730. 

The  forebodings  are  confirmed  in  this  scrap  of  a  letter  fiom 
Dr*  Cutler  at  Boston  to  Dn  Zlachary  Grey  ^^ : — 

BostoHy  May  9,  1 730. 

.  .  .  Dean  Berkeley  leads  a  private  life  at  Rhode  Island,  and  I  have 
yet  wanted  the  happiness  of  paying  my  respects  to  him.  Some  say  his 
designs  will  come  to  nothing;  and  I  fear  they  guess  right. 

The  important  autumn  and  winter  of  1 730  is  nearly  a  blank  in 

our  picture  of  Berkeley's  course,  and  we  are  left  to  conjecture. 

The  crisis  of  the  Bermuda  College  was  now  come.  The  estate  had 

been  purchased,  and  the  public  money  was  due.     But  Sir  Robert 

Walpole  had  never  entered  heartily  into  the  project.  •  His  ruling 

political  idea  was  the  consolidation  of  England  under  the  house 

of  Brunswick.     An  explosion  of  Christian  knight-errantry  in  the 

colonics  was  not  embraced  in  this  ruling  notion,  and  might  in  its 

issues  turn  out  to  be  in  many  ways  inconsistent  with  it.    The 

presence  in  London  of  the  enthusiastic  leader  of  the  expedition, 

four  years  before,  had  carried  the  grant  through  the  House  of 

Commons.     But  the  brave  missionary,  his  motives  and  action 

misinterpreted,  was  now  a  studious  recluse  in  Rhode  Island. 

^  Nichols's  niuslraHoHs,  ro\,  IV.  p.  389. 


1 86 


Life  and  Letters  of  BerkeUy. 


[CIL 


This  winter  of  1730 — ^31  was  probably  a  time  of  anxious  cor- 
respondence between  Berkeley  in  his  island  home  and  London. 
Gibson,  the  Bishop  of  London^,  with  whose  diocese  the  western 
hemispdiere  was  connected,  tired  of  official  excuses  and  evasions^ 
pressed  for  a  definite  issue  to  the  negotiations  and  promises  of  so 
many  years.  A  conclusive  answer  was  at  last  given  to  him. 
<If  you  put  this  question  to  me  as  a  minister/  said  Walpole,  <I 
must,  and  can^  assure  you,  that  the  money  shall  most  undoubtedly 
be  paid,  as  soon  as  suits  with  public  convenience ;  but  if  you  ask 
me  as  a  friend,  whether  Dean  Berkeley  should  continue  in  America, 
expecting  the  payment  of  <3^20,ooo,  I  advise  him  by  all  means  to 
return  home  to  Europe,  and  to  give  up  his  present  expectations.' 
And  so,  about  the  beginning  of  the  year  173 1,  the  Prime  Minister 
of  England  was,  it  seems,  able  to  crush  the  project  which  about 
the  year  1721  was  first  conceived  by  the  philanthropist  and 
philosopher  ***. 

The  correspondence  which  ended  in  this  heavy  blow  to  the 
single-minded  and  patient  student  at  Whitehall,  I  am  not  able  to 
present.  Even  the  letters  to  Prior  end  with  the  one  already  given, 
dated  July  1730,  when  the  issue  was  still  doubtful.  Yet  Berkeley's 
stay  at  Whitehall  was  prolonged  for  more  than  a  year  after  that 
letter  to  Prior.  A  sentence  in  one  of  Cutler's  letters  to  Grey, 
preserved  by  Nichols**,  is  our  only  account  of  him  during  the  fol- 
lowing winter  and  spring: — *  Boston,  April  ao,  1731 Dean 

Berkeley  is  coming  home,  leaving  us  lamenting  the  loss  of  him.' 
But  his  departure  was  still  delayed.  This,  the  year  of  his  great 
disappointment,  was  perhaps  the  most  studious  year  of  his  life. 
Alctphron  was  written,  as  it  seems,  in  1731.  The  picture  with 
which  the  book  opens  reveals  his  feelings,  and  the  way  in  which  he 
soothed  them : — ^  I  flattered  myself,  Tbeages^  that  befbre  this  time 
I  might  have  been  able  to  have  sent  you  an  agreeable  account  of 
the  success  of  the  aflFair  which  brought  me  into  this  remote  comer 


"  Edmund  Gibson,  D.D.  (1669 — 1 748), 
one  of  the  most  leatmed  of  contemporary 
divines,  was  Bishop  of  London  from  1725 
till  his  death.  He  is  celebrated  as  the  author 
of  the  Codex  Juris  EcclesiaUici  AngUcani 

(1713) 

^   Parliamentary    influence     soon    after 

diverted  the  grants  into  another   channel. 

The    lands    in    St.  Christopher's    produced 

X90,ooo.     Of  this  £80,000  was  granted  as 


the  marriage  portion  of  the  Princess  Rojal, 
on  her  marriage  with  the  Prince  of  Oraoge, 
General  Oglethorpe  induced  Parliament  to 
vote  the  remainder  for  his  new  colony  of 
Georeia,  in  America — alter  obtaining  Ber- 
keley s  consent  to  this  application  of  the 
money.  See  JimnuUs  of  the  Hotisi  </ 
Commons,  May  10, 16,  and  17,  1733. 
**  IlluitratioHt,  rol.  IV.  p.  992. 


y«3  y^  Reclusi  in  Rhode  Island.  187 


of  the  qoontiy.  But,  instead  of  this^  I  should  now  give  you  the 
detail  of  its  miscaniage,  if  I  did  not  rather  chose  to  entertain 
|oa  with  some  annwising  incidents^  which  have  helped  to  make  me 
Ctfy  under  a  circumstance  I  could  neither  obviate  nor  foresee. 
Svests  are  not  in  our  power;  but  it  always  is,  to  make  a  good 
use  even  of  the  very  w(»st.  And  I  must  needs  ow%  the  course 
and  event  of  this  affair  gave  opportunity  for  reflections^  that  make 
me  SQiiie  amends  icx  a  great  loss  of  time,  pains,  and  expense* 
A  life  of  action,  which  takes  its  issue  from  the  counsels,  passions^ 
and  views  of  other  men,  if  it  doth  not  draw  a  man  to  imitate,  will 
at  least  teach  him  to  observe.  And  a  mind  at  liberty  to  reflect  on 
its  own  observations,  if  it  produce  nothing  usefol  to  the  worlds 
addom  fidk  of  entertainment  to  itself.  For  several  months  past 
I  have  enjoyed  such  liberty  and  leisure  in  this  distant  retreat,  far 
beyond  tiie  yerg^  of  that  great  whirlpool  k£  business,  faction,  and 
pkasui^  which  is  called  the  World.  And  a  retreat  in  itself 
agreeable,  after  a  long  scene  of  trouble  and  disquiet,  was  made 
nmdi  more  so  by  the  conversation  and  gcxxl  qualities  of  my  host 
Eufiinuior,  who  unites  in  his  own  person  the  philoso|riier  and  the 
farmer,  two  characters  not  so  inconsistent  in  nature  as  by  custom 
they  seem  to  be.*  This  first  page  of  Aktphrm  represents  Ber- 
keley in  the  last  year  of  his  family  life  at  Whitehall.  The  whole 
book  represents  his  studies  there,  in  the  library,  in  the  field,  and 
on  the  sea  shore. 

A  few  fragments  belonging  to  the  summer  of  1731  remain. 
In  the  parish  records  of  Trinity  Church  at  Newport,  the  following 
entry  may  be  found:—* June  11,  1731.  Philip  Berkley,  Anthony 
Berkley,  Agnes  Berkley,  negroes,  received  into  the  Church.*  It 
appears  that  Berkeley,  like  his  neighbours  in  the  island,  had 
slaves.  The  Berkeley  Papers  contain  a  document,  signed  by  the 
Honourable  J.  Jenks,  Governor  of  Rhode  Island,  and  W.  Cod- 
dington,  the  Deputy-Governor,  which  records  the  purchase  of  a 
slave  by  him.  Slavery,  as  such,  does  not  seem  to  have  vexed  his 
conscience  more  than  it  did  St.  Paul's ^^.     But  he  was  indignant 


*  So  too  with  the  Puritan  ministers  of  *  quick  stock/  one  negro  boy,  Titus,  valued 

bst  century  in  New  England.     In  the  in-  at  a  hundred  dollars.     And  Dr.  Hopkins, 

Tentory  of  Jonathan  Edwards'  estate,  after  an  eminent  American  divine,  owned  a  slave. 

his  death,  there  was  mentioQed  among  his  See  Park's  Mtmoir  ofHopkins^  p.  114. 


1 88  Life  and  Letters  of  BerkeUy.  [CH. 

at  the  < irrational  contempt  of  the  blacks,  as  creatures  of  another 
species,  who  had  no  right  to  be  instructed  or  admitted  to  the 
sacraments/  And  he  proclaimed  emphatically  that  a  state  of 
slavery  was  not  inconsistent  with  being  baptized. 

Domestic  sorrow  darkened  his  home  as  the  autumn  advanced. 
The  following  inscription  may  be  read  on  the  tombstone  of  his 
friend  Nathanael  Kay,  in  the  burial  ground  of  Trinity  Church:— 
<  Joining  to  the  south  of  this  tomb  lies  Lucia  Berkeley,  daughter 
of  Dean  Berkeley.  O^iV,  the  5th  of  September  1731.'  It  is  our 
only  record  of  the  birth  of  this  second  child.  His  daughter  Lucia 
was  left  to  lie  among  the  hospitable  society  of  that  olden  time, 
who  now  sleep  round  the  venerable  church  in  whidi  they  once 
listened  to  her  fiather's  words. 

This  sorrow  must  have  been  on  the  eve  of  the  departure,  as  is 
shown  by  the  following  letter  to  Johnson  at  Stratford : — 

Rev.  Sir, 

I  AM  now  upon  the  point  of  setting  out  for  Boston,  in  order  to  embark 
for  England.  But  the  hurry  I  am  in  could  not  excuse  my  neglecting  to 
acknowledge  the  favour  of  your  letter.  In  answer  to  the  obliging  things 
in  it,  I  can  only  say  I  wish  I  might  deserve  them. 

My  endeavours  shall  not  be  wanting,  some  way  or  other,  to  be  usefbl; 
and  I  should  be  very  glad  to  be  so  in  particular  to  the  College  at 
Newhaven,  and  the  more  as  you  were  once  a  member  of  it,  and  have 
still  an  influence  there.  Pray  return  my  service  to  those  gentlemen  who 
sent  their  complements  by  you. 

I  have  left  a  box  of  books  with  Mr.  Kay,  to  be  given  away  by  yoa— - 
the  small  English  books  where  they  may  be  most  serviceable  among  the 
people,  the  others  as  we  agreed  together.  The  Greek  and  Latin  boob 
I  would  have  given  to  such  lads  as  you  think  will  make  the  best  use  of 
them  in  the  College,  or  to  the  School  at  Newhaven. 

I  pray  God  to  bless  you,  and  your  endeavours  to  promote  religion  aitd 
learning  in  this  uncultivated  part  of  the  world,  and  desire  you  to  accept 
mine  and  my  wife's  best  wishes  and  services,  being  very  truly,  Rev.  Sir, 

Your  most  humble  servant, 

GEORGE  BERKELEY. 

Rhode  Island, 

We  may  conclude  that  Berkeley,  with  his  wife  and  their  in- 
fant child,  bade  farewell  to  Whitehall  and  to  Rhode  Island  soon 


A  Recluse  in  Rhode  Islamt  189 


■  after  this  letter  was  written.  It  wis  probably  in  October  or 
November  that  thejr  sailed  fiom  Boston.  At  any  rate,  Berkeley 
reappeared  in  London  in  Febniary,  1731.  Their  companions  in 
the  voyage  from  Gtavesend  were  left  in  America.  Later  cot- 
respondcnce  shows  that  Mr.  James  was  in  Bceton  several  years 
after  this.  The  artist  Smibcrt  settled  there,  and  his  name  is 
still  remembered  in  America.  He  was  the  first  person  in  New 
England  who  devoted  himself  to  his  art.  Berkeley  it  is  said 
met  Smibert  in  Itlly,  and  afterwards  invited  him  to  join  the 
Bermuda  expedition  as  professor  of  the  Fine  Arts  in  the  projected 
College.  In  Berkeley's  artistic  designs  of  the  city  of  Bermuda— 
the  Athens  of  his  Utopia — a  museum  of  the  Arts  was  conspcuous. 
Smiberfs  inAuence  is  still  felt  in  at  least  one  of  the  Colleges  of 
New  England.  To  him  Yak  College  owes  the  portrait  of  Ber- 
keley, an  engraving  of  which  is  presented  to  the  readers  of  this 
edition  of  his  works.  The  original  picture  presents  a  group,  in 
which  the  philosopher  appears  standing  beside  a  table,  with  Us 
'  hand  upon  his  favourite  Plat(^  and  a^^orently  dictating  to  an 
amanuensis.  His  wife  and  another  lady,  probably  Miss  Hand- 
cock,  are  seated  near  him,  the  lady  with  a  child  in  her  arms. 
Dalton  seems  to  be  acting  as  Berkeley's  amanuensis,  while  Mr. 
James  is  standing  behind  the  two  ladies.  TTie  artist  himself  ap- 
pears in  the  picture,  and  another  person  said  to  be  an  American 
friend.  There  are  thus  eight  figures  on  the  canvas.  It  was 
probably  painted  at  Boston,  when  the  Berkeley  family  were  about 
to  leave  America.  It  was  long  preserved  there  in  the  studio  of 
the  Smiberts,  and  was  given  to  Yale  CoU^e  in  1 808  *•. 

Thus  ended  the  romantic  episode  of  Rhode  Island,  which  warms 
the  heart,  and  touches  the  imagination  more  perhaps  than  any 
event  in  Berkeley's  life.  Of  all  who  have  ever  landed  on  the 
American  shore,  none  was  ever  animated  by  a  purer  and  more 

"'The  portrait  painter,  Mr.  Smibert,  who  Updike,  p.  513  noteO    There  ii  iliU  extint 

uxnmpaDied  Dr.  Berkdef  to  America  in  a  portrait  of  Dr.  M'Sparnn  by  Smibert,  uid 

17S8.  w«  empbyed,'  uyi  Dr.  Barton,  '  by  10  ha»e  been  painted  during  ihe  Tiiit  which 

tbe  Oraod  Duke  of  Florence  lo  paint  two  Berkeley  and  the  artiit  made  to  the  gotti 

or  three  Siberian  Tartan,  pieienled  by  the  miisionary.    toon    after     their    arriraf    at 

Dofce  to  the  Cur  of  Ruuia.     Mr.  Smibert.  Newport,   when   the    object   of  their    tiiit 

oo  hit   landing    at  Narraganiett  with   Dr.  wai   to  ice    the   North  American   ladiant. 

Berkeley,  ioMamly  recognised  the   Indiini  Smibert  died  at  Boiton.  and  had  ai  a  pupil 


ipo  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 

self-sacrificing  spirit.     It  is  for  this,  more  than  for  his  specu* 
lative  thought^  that  he   is  now  remembered  in  New  England. 
The  cosmopolitan  Berkeley  has  left  curiously  few  local  impres- 
sions at  any  of  the  places  where  he  lived,  perhaps  more  in  Rhode 
Island  than  anywhere  else.    The  island  still  acknowledges  that, 
by  his  visit,  it  has  been  touched  with  the  halo  of  a  great  and 
sacred  reputation.    His  direct  influence  is  now,  however,  hardly 
to  be  found  in  the  history  of  American  thought,  though  his  phi- 
losophy was  professed  by  two  of  the  greatest  American  thinkers^ 
Samuel  Johnson  and  Jonathan  Edwards.     The  colonies  in  general 
were  too  insulated  in  sectional  interests^  and  too  little  given  to 
speculative  studies,  to  receive  and  preserve  a  subtle  philosophic 
doctrine. 
We  must  now  return  to  less  romantic  and  more  Esimiliar  scenes. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

BACK  TO  LONDON,  AND  IN  CONTROVERSV. 

1732—1734, 

Bntic&UET  returned  to  England  in  the  end  of  1731,  with  his  wife 
and  their  infant  child.  His  long  cherished  hopes  were  dis- 
appointed)  and  he  had  now  to  satisfy  himself  with  his  Irish 
Deanery.  The  vision  of  the  America  of  the  future,  civilized  and 
enlightened  by  a  CSiristian  University,  which  had  filled  his  imagi- 
nation during  the  best  years  of  middle  life,  was  dissolved.  The 
<  astonishing  and  animating  force  of  eloquence  and  enthusiasm/ 
whidi  years  before  almost  persuaded  the  party  at  Lord  Bathurst's 
to  accompany  him  across  the  ocean,  had  failed  to  move  Sir  Robert 
Walpole.  The  failure  affected  the  whole  following  period  of  his 
life.  After  his  return  from  America  one  sees  signs  of  a  less 
buoyant  spirit.  There  are  soon  not  unfrequent  complaints  of 
^ling  health.  And  a  greater  disposition  to  recluse  study  is 
shown  than  since  he  left  Trinity  College  in  the  spring  of  17 13: 
the  tranquil  and  domestic  influences  of  Rhode  Island  were 
favourable  to  this. 

It  was  probably  on  one  of  the  early  days  of  173a  that  Berkeley 
arrived  in  London.  On  Friday  the  i8th  of  February,  he  preached 
the  Sermon  at  the  anniversary  meeting  of  the  Society  for  the 
Propagation  of  the  Gospel  in  Foreign  Parts,  in  the  Church  of 
St.  Mary-le-Bow.  The  office  was  usually  confined  to  bishops, 
but  it  was  on  this  occasion  appropriately  offered  to  the  Dean  oiF 
Deny.  The  sermon  was  published.  It  is  the  only  one  of 
Berkeley's  which  was  published  during  his  life:  the  Discourse  an 
Passive  Ohedsence  is  hardly  an  exception. 

The  Christian  knowledge  of  God,  and  the  moral  obligation  of 
diffusing  it,  is  the  subject  of  this  missionary  sermon.  Berkeley's 
inclination  to  connect  in  a  practical  way  the  mysteries  of  faith 


192  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

with  human  action,  and  his  aversion  to  verbal  abstractions  ap- 
pear in  his  description  of  what  religious  knowledge  is.  He  saw 
in  the  Christian  religion  something  meant  for  the  mass  of  maii- 
kind,  and  which  therefore  could  not  consist  in  ^  subtle  and  nice 
notions.'  The  time  when  divinity  began  to  be  treated  as  an 
abstract  science  marked,  he  thought,  the  beginning  of  its  loss 
of  spiritual  power  over  its  professors.  ^Doubtless  the  making 
religion  a  notional  thing  hath  been  of  infinite  disservice.  Its 
holy  mysteries  are  rather  to  be  received  with  the  humility  of 
faith  than  defined  with  the  accuracy  of  human  reason.'  He  re- 
commended religion,  in  the  broad  spirit  of  the  New  Testament^ 
according  to  the  sober  and  reverent  tone  of  the  Anglican  Churcfa| 
without  theological  leaning  towards  a  particular  school.  Rhode 
Island,  and  the  good  missionaries  from  whom  he  had  so  lately 
parted,  were  not  forgotten.  He  referred  with  characteristic  be- 
nignity to  the  academic  and  other  endeavours  alike  of  Con- 
formists and  Nonconformists  in  New  England,  while  he  repeated 
those  commonplaces  of  charity  and  toleration  which,  however 
often  repeated,  are  so  readily  forgotten. 

Berkeley's  practical  interest  in  religious  learning  in  New  £ng« 
land  ceased  but  with  his  life.  It  showed  itself  soon  after  tliis 
sermon  was  preached.  His  friend  Johnson,  in  his  youth  a  gra- 
duate and  tutor  of  Yale  College  at  Newhaven,  had  not  lost  his 
influence  in  that  seminary  by  his  conformity  to  the  Church.  Both 
of  them  wished  to  encourage  a  wisely-managed  institution  of 
learning,  though  Churchmen  were  not  among  the  trustees.  And 
as  to  Berkeley's  philosophy,  the  President  said  that  Yale  College 
would  ^  probably  always  retain  a  favourable  opinion  of  his  idea 
of  material  substance,  as  not  consisting  in  an  unknown  and 
inconceivable  substratum,  but  in  a  stated  union  and  combination 
of  sensible  ideas.' 

In  the  summer  of  1732,  accordingly,  we  find  Berkeley  employed 
in  providing  for  this  rising  seminary  of  learning  in  America. 
As  one  part  of  the  fruits  of  his  liberality,  he  made  over  to  it 
his  farm  of  ninety-six  acres  at  Whitehall,  for  tlie  encouragement 
of  Greek  and  Latin  scholarship. 

Two  instruments  of  the  conveyance  are  preserved  in  the  archives 
of  the  College.  The  first  is  dated  on  the  a6th  July,  173a.  Some 
changes  in  the  terms,  mutually  agreed  upon,  led  to  a  repetition  of 


I 


Boik  lo  London. 


'93 


BdjOnd  a  second  was  completed  on  the  17th  of  August,  1733'. 


final  Deed  ai  Conveyance  ii  ai 


:  )hc 


e«lh 


f  »oi  Sorerdgn  Lord  George  the 
7  the  Gncc  of  God  King  of  Great 
'nncc  and  Irduid.  Defender  of  Ihe 
id  to  llie  re*[  of  our  Lord  One 

I  Sera)  Hundred  Thiilj  Three,  be- 
nrge  Beriwley,  Doctoc  of  Diirinily, 
pimrjr  n  Ibc  Kmsdum  of  Ireland, 
one  pan.  and  tbe  Reterend  Mr. 
'JHiUni,  Preildeni  or  Reclor  with 
6f  tbe  Cwpoiation  or  incoTporale 
4  Yale  CoUi^e  in  New  Haven  m 
bee  nf  Connecticui,  on  the  □Ibir, 

II  tlul  fer  aod  in  contidtration  of 
rif  Fire  Siillingi  of  Lawful  Money 
Bnuin  to  tbe  (aid  George  Berkeley 
Id  Coipotation,  in  hand  paid  at  or 
a  enaealing  and  deliTeiy  of  Ibex 

the  ttCTipt  whereof  ii  hneby 
dged.  and  foi  diren  oiber  good 
t  Ccntidetaiioiu.  he  Ihe  aid  George 


id  and  the  rett  anble  pailure,  mea- 
aooil  land,  lilnale.  lying  and  being 
m,  in  the  Colony  of  Rhode  Island 
ridencc    Plaotationt.  and   bounded 

ilker,  and  panlj  on  School  landt, 
rf  a  tiii'bwjy.  and  panly  by  a 
X  of  land  of  about  half  a  qnaiter 
«  >ilh  a  houic  ibfceoii,  loulhetly 
w*j,  and  werterly  by  laud  now  or 
[  pimciaioo  of  tbe  Widow  Turner, 
■tth  all   riehli,  ptofili,  pirilegee 

ng,  and  the  terenion  and  icvet- 
lauxleT  and  rtmaiDderi  thereof,  and 
aaCe,  eight,  title,  pr'>pcTly,  daim 
taA  whalaocvo  of  him  the  laid 
Mcricy  of  ill  and  unto  the  nid 
Ml  eveff  pan  and  paicell  ihercof. 
in  aad  lo  bold  the  uld  dwelliDg- 
itik.   tiaci  of   land,  and  premiiei 


Inafrct  mentioned.  vxpri»e<I  and  drcliccd  of 
and  concerning  Ihe  unie ;  thai  is  lo  lay, 
that  they  the  (aid  corporation  ot  incorporate 
iociety.  and  their  lucceswrt  do  and  thai], 
for  ever  heieafler.  pay  and  apply  the  clear 
yearly  rent(  and  proliK  of  the  (aid  premitet 
from  time  to  lime,  ai  the  (ame  (hall  become 
due  and  payable,  and  ai  they  thai!  receive 
the  lame,  (they  the  laid  corporation  or  in- 
corporate locicty,  and  their  (uccei(or(  re- 
■peclively,  6Ttt  deducting  thercODt.  all  such 
reaioiuble  cwtl  and  chargei  a(  they,  or  any 
of  them  (tiall,  from  time  lo  time,  and  ai  any 
time  bercafter  incur.  luitiin,  ot  be  put  unto, 
in  the  execution  of  the  tiuit  hereby  in  Ibeni 
lepoied)  to  three  ftadeat(  of  tbe  laid  college, 
toward(  their  maintenaDce  and  tubsiitence 
during  the  time  between  their  firit  and  second 
degree ;  tuch  iludenti  bdng  to  be  called 
scholan  of  the  house,  and,  during  that  ipace 
of  lime,  being  hereby  obliged  lo  reside,  at 

their  first  aud  second  degree,  in  the  said 
college:  and  that  the  said  (tudents  or 
sdiolari  of  the  hou(e,  be  elected  on  the 
sixth  day  o(  May.  (if  not  on  a  Sunday)  but 
if  it  shall  happen  on  a  Sunday,  then  the 
electiou  !□  be  on  the  day  following,  such 
election  to  be  performed  by  the  President  or 
head  of  the  college,  for  the  time  being, 
jointly  with  the  senioi  episcopal  missionary 
of  that  colony  or  province  of  Conneclicnt, 
for  Ihe  lime  being,  that  is  to  say,  he  who 
halh  been  longest  upon  the  mission  in  tbe 
(aid  colony,  the  candidates  to  be  publicly 
examined  by  the  said  PreddenI  or  Rector 

morning,  in  Greek,  and  in  the  aAcmoon, 
two  houri  la  Latin,  on  the  day  of  election, 
-^all  persona  having  free  access  to  hear  the 
uid  examination  : — and  it  is  hereby  declared 
and  intended,  and  ii  is  the  true  iiileni  and 
meaning  of  Ihe  said  George  Berkeley,  that 
those  who  appear  to  he  the  best  scholars  on 

al^dion,  elected  ; — and  in  case  of  a  division 
of  seiitimc:ni  in  the  electors,  the  election  to 
be  determined  by  loi : — and  if  the  senior 
episcopal  clergyman  shall  not  attend,  then 
any  other  episcopal  clergyman  of  said  colony 


of  v 


lerfon 


dbytl 


of  the  said  college  for  ihe  lime  being  t — 
Provided  always,  that  whatever  surplus  of 
money  shall  arise  during  the  vacancies  of 
tlic  said  scholarshipt.  the  lamc  to  be  laid 
out  for  Gteelt  and  L     ■     "     " 


194 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


The  rent  of  the  farm  was  appropriated  to  three  scholarships, 
which  have  had  no  inconsiderable  influence  in  promoting  Greek 
and  Roman  learning  in  America — ^  a  great  incitement,'  says  Pre- 
sident Clap,  ^  to  a  laudable  ambition  to  excel  in  a  knowledge  of 
the  classics  */ 

Besides  the  conveyance  of  Whitehall,  Berkeley  made  a  donation 
of  books  to  the  Library  of  Yale  College,  with  the  help  of  some  of 
the  Bermuda  subscribers.  They  were  sent  from  London  in  May 
1733.  '^^^^  ^^  according  to  President  Clap,  the  best  collection 
of  books  which  had  ever  been  brought,  at  one  time,  to  America, 
consisting  of  nearly  a  thousand  volumes,  valued  at  about  five 
hundred  pounds.  The  original  invoice,  notwithstanding  its  ob- 
vious bibliographical  imperfections,  is  interesting  as  it  illustrates 
Berkeley's  preference  in  the  selection  ^. 


posed  of  by  the  said  electors  on  the  said  day 
of  election  to  such  of  the  undergraduate 
students  as  shall  shew  themselves  most  de- 
serving by  their  compositions  in  the  Latin 
tongue  on  a  moral  subject  or  theme  proposed 
by  the  electors. 

'Provided  also  that  if  at  any  time  or 
times  hereafter  any  difficulty,  dispute  or  dif- 
ference shall  happen  to  arise  concerning  the 
due  Election  of  the  said  three  Scholars  of  the 
House,  or  any  of  them  in  manner  aforesaid, 
that  then  and  in  every  such  case  the  power 
of  explaining  such  difficulty,  dispute  or  dif- 
ference is  hereby  referred  to  the  said  George 
Berkeley :  Provided  always,  and  it  is  hereby 
declared  to  be  the  true  intent  and  meaning 
of  these  presents  and  the  parties  thereto, 
that  in  case  the  said  rules  and  orders  con^ 
ceming  the  said  election  and  the  application 
of  the  rents  and  profits  of  the  said  premisses 
be  not  from  time  observed,  that  then  and  in 
that  case  the  grant  of  the  said  premisses  to 
the  said  Corporation  of  Yale  College  hereby 
made  shall  cease,  determine  and  be  void. 

*  GEORGE  BERKELEY. 

*  Signed,  Sealed  and  Delivered 
(being  first  duly  Stampt)  the 
day  and  Year  above  written, 
the  words  (or  Rector)  being 
first  interlin'd  in  the  a5th  and 
30th  Lines,  in  the  presence 
of  us, 

'Isaac  Browne, 
John  Pierson, 
Henry  Newman.' 


*  See  Clap's  EitHxry  of  ToU  OoOff. 
The  Y<dt  LUeraary  Magazms  far  1851 
contains  a  list  of  *  Beikleiaii  Sdiolait  of  the 
House'  from  1733. — ^*to  show  bow  fa  the 
results  of  this  beneficence  has  lulfiDed  the 
design  of  the  pious  founder.'  '  It  is  a  fuX 
of  no  slight  significance,'  the  writer  remarks, 
*  taken  in  connection  with  the  origmal  pur- 
pose of  Berkdey,  that  of  this  list  nearly  one 
hundred  are  marked  as  ministers  of  the 
Gospd,  foremost  among  whom  b  President 
Wheelock,  who  founded  an  Indian  school, 
the  germ  of  Dartmouth  College;  while 
hundreds  more,  not  here  enumerated,  have 
been  recipients  of  this  bounty  in  the  shape 
of  the  smaller  premiums,  among  whom  may 
be  named  David  Brainerd,  the  **  Apostle  to 
the  Indians." '  This  list  contains  above  two 
hundred  names,  amoog  them  some  of  the 
most  eminent  in  America.  President  Dwight, 
(the  grandson  of  Joanathan  Edwsrds),  who 
is  one  of  them,  published  an  American  edi- 
tion ci  Aleipbrrm  in  1803. 

*  I  have  now  before  me  *  A  Catalogs  ^ 
Books  for  YaU  CdUgt,  at  Ntw  Havm,  m 
Conneetieutf  Niw  Bmglamd,  markt  as  imdk 
tnargtni,  consign* d  to  Mr.  Andrtw  B^dtr 
at  Boston,  by  Copt.  Aldtn,  masier  of  At 
Dolphin,'  for  which  I  am  indebted  to 
Mr.  Gilman. 

They  were  *  shipp'd  30*  of  May,  1733, 
by  order  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Dean  Berkeley,  at 
London,*  and  the  invoice  is  signed  *  Henry 
Newman.'  The  Catalogue  is  too  long  to 
be  inserted  here.  It  contains  nearly  five 
hundred  books — with  some  duplicates,  about 


VI.] 


Back  to  London. 


195 


While  Berkeley  was  trying  thus  to  realise  some  part  of  his 
magnificent  American  vision,  he  was  also  giving  the  world  fruits 
of  his  American  studies,  pursued  in  the  secluded  valley  at  White- 
hall. In  no  period  of  his  life  did  he  contribute  to  literature  so 
copiously  as  in  the  two  years  which  followed  his  return  from 
Rhode  Island.  With  his  young  wife  in  his  romantic  home,  he 
had  there  indulged  a  love  of  study,  which  before  that  had  been 
disturbed  by  fifteen  years  of  movement  in  Europe. 

Alctphnm^  w  the  Minute  Fhilosopher^  appeared  in  March  1732, 
about  two  months  after  his  return  to  England.  It  is  the  largest 
of  his  works,  and  sooner  engaged  popular  attention  than  any  of  its 
predecessors.     A  second  edition  followed  in  the  same  year. 


a  thoofaDd  volumes.  It  contains  a  good 
coUection  of  Greek  and  Roman  literature 
and  philosophy — Plato,  Aristotle,  the  Neo- 
platonists,  Sextus  Empiricus,  8cc.  prominent. 
The  Greek  and  Latin  Fathers  are  well  re- 
presented  ia  some  of  the  best  editions. 
There  is  ^  good  deal  of  church  history — 
Eoiebius,  Nicephorus,  Hardouin,  Baronius, 
Dopin,  and  others.  The  divinity  is  mostly 
of  the  Anglican  school— Hooker,  Chilling- 
worth,  Barrow,  Stillingflcct,  Tillotson,  South, 
Bull,  Chandler,  Smalridgc,  Atterbury,  Gib- 
son, Sherlock,  and  the  Boyle  Lectures.  In 
phOosophy,  besides  the  ancients,  are  the 
works  of  Bacon,  Malebranche,  Locke,  Gro- 
tins,  and  Puffendorf —  of  Berkeley's  own 
works  only  Alcipbron.  The  principal  works 
of  Newton,  Pemberton,  Keil's  Astronomy, 
Ditton's  Fluxions,  and  a  few  other  mathe- 
matical books,  complete  the  scanty  list  in 
that  department.  Works  in  natural  history 
and  medicine  have  a  large  share — Hippo- 
crates, Celsus,  Willisius,  Sydenham,  Diemer- 
broek,  Ray's  Hist.  Plant.,  the  Hist.  Nat.  of 
jonstonus,  the  Op.  Med.  of  Freind,  Arbuthnot 
oa  Aiimenis.Chcync's Essay  on  Heal fb,  and  on 
The  English  Malady,  Hale's  Vegetable  Staticks, 
Sic. ;  also  Burnet's  Tbeory,  and  Whiston's. 
In  English  literature  there  is  a  fair  collection 
of  poets — including  Spenser,  Shakespeare, 
Ben  Jonson,  Cowley,  Milton,  Butler,  Waller, 
Dryden,  Blackmore,  Pope,  Prior,  Steele, 
Swift's  Miscellanies,  &c. ;  also  a  few  reprc- 
s<mtatives  of  French  literature —  Feuelon, 
Fontanelle,  La  Bruyere,  Rapin,  &c.  In 
history  we  find  Clarendon,  Burnet,  Kennet. 
&c.  The  works  of  Erasmus,  Vossius,  and 
the  Acta  Eruditorum  from  1682  to  1706 
(30  vols.),  are  also  in  the  list. 

Johnson  mentions,  in  his  Autobiography, 
that  the  trustees  of  Yale  College,  •  though 


they  made  an  appearance  of  much  thankful- 
ness, were  almost  afraid  to  accept  the  noble 
donation.'  They  recollected  the  effect  of 
Anglican  divinity  upon  Johnson  himself, 
and  some  of  their  other  tutors  and  graduates, 
in  previous  years,  and  suspected  a  prosely- 
tizing design.  But  in  the  end  a  more  liberal 
spirit  prevailed,  and  Berkeley  kept  up  friendly 
correspondence  with  the  College  to  the  end 
of  his  life.  There  is,  I  believe,  a  *  Berkeley 
Association'  in  Yale  College  at  the  present 
day. 

Harvard  College,  as  well  as  Yale,  shared 
in  Berkeley's  liberality.  The  following  ex- 
tract, sent  to  me  from  the  original  records 
of  the  College  Corporation,  is  a  proof  of 
this : — 

*  At  a  meeting  of  the  President  and  Fellows 
of  Harvard  College  at  Cambridge,  September 
3»  '733» — Whereas  the  Rev"'*.  Dean  Ber- 
keley has  lately  procured  a  valuable  collec- 
tion of  books,  and  sent  them  to  Harvard 
College,  voted  y*  y^  thanks  of  y-*  Corpora- 
tion be  returned  by  y^  President  to  yc  Dean 
for  the  above  donation,  procured  and  sent 
by  him,  and  y^  he  be  desired  to  make  proper 
acknowledgments,  on  behalf  of  y^  Corpora- 
tion, to  those  gentlemen  who  have  contri- 
buted to  so  literal  a  benefaction  * 

The  Harvard  collection  was  destroyed  by 
fire  in  1 764. 

Trinity  Church  at  Newport  was  not  for- 
gotten by  Berkeley.  A  handsome  organ,  his 
gift  in  1733.  still  remains  as  a  visible  memo- 
rial of  his  connection  with  the  place.  His 
offer  of  an  organ  to  a  church  in  the  town 
of  Berkeley,  Mass.,  is  said  to  have  been  too 
much  for  the  puritanical  rigour  of  the  in- 
habitants, who  unanimously  voted  it  an 
invention   of  the  devil  to  entrap  the  souls 


of  men. 


O  2 


196  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

In  a  Preface  to  Alciphrom^  I  have  given  some  account  of  its 
design  and  contents.  It  was  the  fruit  of  years  of  thought  about 
the  moral  and  religious  scepticism  of  the  time.  Berkeley  intended 
in  a  series  of  dialogues  to  present  different  types  of  the  class  of 
persons  who  claimed  exclusively  the  name  of  '  Free-thinkers.*  It 
was  a  return,  in  fEict,  to  the  work  begun  in  the  Guardiam^  in  which  he 
had  been  employed  nearly  twenty  years  before.  Materialistic  free- 
thinking  had  been  growing  in  the  interval,  and  he  felt  that  this 
was  accompanied  by  a  relaxation  of  the  springs  of  spiritual  life 
in  the  new  generation.  Aldphram  was  a  fresh  proclamation  of 
Berkeley's  spiritual  philosophy,  in  aspects  which  he  thought  fitted 
to  restore  a  depressed  faith  in  Supreme  Providential  Mind,  in 
Moral  Order,  and  in  the  Christian  Mysteries. 

The  theological  utilitarianism  of  his  college  days  runs  through 
the  first  four  dialogues  of  Alciphram^  where  he  wants  to  restore 
belief  in  the  moral  government  of  the  Universe.  We  might  almost 
expect  to  have  his  new  Principle  pressed  here,  and  the  reader 
asked  to  apprehend  intuitively  the  inseparableness  of  living  mind 
from  the  sensible  world  in  any  of  its  possible  forms.  But  there  is 
no  direct  appeal  of  this  sort.  The  argument  dwelt  upon  is  less 
abstract.  It  is  drawn  firom  the  Ne^  Theory  ofVtsian^  rather  than 
from  the  Principles  of  Human  Knowledge.  The  fourth  dialogue,  in 
which  it  is  argued  that  Mind  is  the  ultimate  governing  principle 
in  the  universe,  is  simply  the  New  Theory  of  Visiom  of  1 709,  more 
freely  developed  than  it  was  in  that  juvenile  essay,  and  made  to 
show  that  we  literally  see  the  Supreme  Providential  Being  every 
time  we  use  our  eyes ;  in  the  very  same  way  that  we  see  a  human 
being  when  one  is  near  us,  and  speaking  to  us. 

The  New  Theory  of  Vision^  it  is  to  be  remembered,  explains  the 
connection  established  in  our  thoughts  between  what  is  seen  and 
what  is  felt,  as  the  result  of  both  an  objective  and  a  subjective 
association.  This  is  what  one  might  call  its  ^  constructive  prin- 
ciple.* The  announcement  of  it  naturally  leads  the  thinker  to  in- 
quire why  the  real  ideas  of  sense  are  so  associated  among  them- 
selves as  to  form  what  to  all  practical  purposes  is  a  language ;  and 
a  language  which  we  are  all  induced  to  learn,  through  consequent 
subjective  associations  among  our  ideas  of  imagination^ 

To  this  question  various  answers  might  be  offered.  The 
confused  popular  answer  would  take  for  granted  that  the  visible 


Back  to  London. 


197 


the  tangible  are  associated  in  sense,  because  it  is  one  and 
same  extended  thing  that  is  at  once  seen  and  felt.  The 
biiosophcrs,  again,  in  their  fondness  for  abstractions,  said  that 
'hat  was  touched  and  what  was  seen  were  common  qualities 
f  an  unperceivcd  substance  which  they  called  Matter.  BerJccley's 
hcory  was  different  from  both.  They  are  sensibly  associated,  he 
lid,  because  the  supreme  Mind  is  always  sustaining  the  associa- 

Are  the  phenomena  which  we  see,  and  those  which  we  touch, 

dindly  united  in  and  by  a  substance,  called  Matter,  of  which  we 

in  have  no  idea;  or  arc  they  freely  and  rationally  united  by  Divine 

iVill,  and  according  to  the  Divine  Ideas  ?    This,  although  he  saw  it 

dimly,  is,  1  think,  the  profound  question  on  which  Berkeley's 

ieory  of  vision  turns  at  last;  and  in  employing  this  principle, 

expands   from  a  mere   psychological  tlieory   of  vision  into  a 

taphysical   theory  of  tlie  universe.       Berkeley  himself  did  not 

W  quite  put  it  thus,  but  about  the  time  that  Aklpkron  was  written, 

was  coming  very  near  this  :  he  was  taking  for  granted  that  it 

more  reasonable  to  suppose  that   the  association  (in  sensible 

liings)  between  what  is  seen  and  what  is  felt,  is  the  immediate 

lit  of  a  Mind,  more  or  less  resembling  our  own,  than  to  sup- 

;  that  it  is  due  to  abstract  Matter — a  mere  name,  into  which 

can  throw  no  meaning  at  all.     We  can  understand,  he  would 

robably  argue,  what  is  meant  by  another  mind,  because  we  have 

ipcTicncc  in  ourselves  of  what  mind  means;  but  we  can  have 

(  sensible  experience  or  idea  of  unpcrceivcd  material  substance. 

I  the  constant  orderly  associations  of  sight  and  feeling,  we  have 

:itbcr  less  nor  more  than  an  example  of  that  relation  between 

pis  and  their  meanings  which  we  have  when  a  human  being  is 

Rualty  speaking  to  us  or  writing  to  us.     Accordingly,  we  have 

r  \-fTj  same  reason  to  say,  that  the  whole  sensible  world  con- 

.ntly  expresses   living   Mind,  that    we   have   to    say   that   the 

pokcn   or   written   words   actually   uttered   by   a   living   human 

ng  Ao  so,     '  in  consequence  of  your  own  sentiments  and  con- 

Rsions/  Berkeley  says*  to  the  atheistic  free-thinker,  'you  have 

mndi  reason  to  think  the  Universal  Agent  or  God  speaks  to 

iir  eyes,  as  you  can  have  for  thinking  any  particular  person 


'  Aliitbroit.  Dill.  IV.  iMl. 


198  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

speaks  to  your  ears. .  •  .  You  stare,  it  seems,  to  find  that  ^  God  is 
not  far  from  any  one  of  us,'*  and  that  "  in  Him  we  live  and  move 
and  have  our  being."  You  who,  in  the  beginning  of  this  morning's 
conference,  thought  it  strange  that  God  should  leave  Himself 
without  a  witness,  do  now  think  it  strange  that  the  witness  should 
be  so  full  and  clear.' 

That  Berkeley  does  not  refer  more  to  the  Divine  Ideas  makes  his 
speailation  in  this  dialogue  defective.  His  theory  is  a  theolc^cal 
sensationalism ;  analogous,  so  far,  to  his  theological  utilitarianism. 
It  implies,  if  it  does  not  say,  that  our  sensations  are  signs  of  Divine 
Ideas  ^  through  which  the  sensations,  apparently  heterogeneous, 
are  constructed  into  trees,  and  mountains,  planets,  and  other 
sensible  things,  in  a  way  which  makes  them  materials  of  science. 
They  are,  in  short,  converted  into  objects  proper,  and  charged  with 
scientific  meaning,  by  means  of  Ideas  which  exist  independently  of 
us  the  individual  percipients.  Berkeley's  argument  implies,  though 
it  does  not  express,  the  existence  of  a  system  of  fixed  relations, 
amidst  which  we  are  placed,  in  which  we  participate,  and  to  whidi 
the  language  of  vision  is  adapted.  Without  those  Divine  Ideas 
or  objective  relations,  there  is  nothing  to  which  the  sensible  signs 
could  be  adapted. 

This  remarkable  dialogue  does  not  avoid,  however,  the  closely- 
related  question  of  the  nature  of  our  knowledge  of  supreme 
or  infinite  Mind.  If  God,  as  infinite,  cannot  be  known 
at  all  by  the  human  mind,  it  seems  to  be  of  little  moment 
whether  we  speak  of  unknown  Matter  or  of  infinite  Mind,  as 
the  constructive  principle  of  our  sensible  world.  The  sceptical 
Lysides  in  the  dialogue  is  quite  ready  to  accept  an  unknown 
subject  of  absolutely  unknown  attributes,  as  on  the  whole  nearly 
as  good  as  no  God  at  all.  This  leads  to  a  discussion  of  the 
question,  whether,  and  to  what  extent,  the  Divine  or  Infinite 
Mind  can  be  known  by  a  human  mind  *.  Berkeley's  opinion  on 
this  cardinal  point  in  his  philosophy,  is  then  more  distinctly 
unfolded.  He  argues  that  God's  knowledge  differs  in  degree, 
not  in  kind,  from  ours ;  and  that  when  an  intending  Mind  is 
said  to  be  the  supreme  power  in  the  universe,  this  must  mean — 
mind  in  the  human  signification  of  that  term,  but  indefinitely 

'  See  Alcipbron^  Dial.  IV.  sect.  i6t— 22. 


VL] 


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199 


higher  in  degree,  and  cannot  be  a  mere  verbal  cover  for  ignorance 
and  absurdity,  as  an  unperceived  Matter  is. 

This  part  of  Alaphron  was  the  occasion  of  a  polemical  criticism 
hf'  Dr.  Peter  Browne,  who,  when  we  last  met  him,  was  Provost  of 
Trinity  College,  Dublin,  but  who  had  now  for  many  years  been 
Bislwp  of  Coik.  Bishop  Browne  had  indicated  a  peculiar  opinion 
alxjut  the  nature  of  human  theological  knowledge,  in  his  answer 
to  Toland,  and  afterwards,  in  1738,  in  his  ProteJure  and  Umttt 
*f  HmmoM  ViiJfrstanJing.  He  had  argued  that  the  real  attributes 
of  Deiiy  are  as  unknown  and  incomprehensible  as  His  essence 
ii;  that  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  have  direct  conceptions  of 
Divine  thoughts  as  they  are  in  themselves.  '  They  can  be  known 
by  us,'  he  was  wont  to  say,  *only  in  a  secondary  or  analogical 
signiitcation  of  the  terms  employed  to  represent  them.'  This 
analogical  hypothesis  of  Browne  is  criticised  in  no  flattering 
terms  by  Berkeley  in  the  dialogue.  The  criticism  drew  the  Bishop 
of  Cork  into  the  controversy.  He  explained  and  defended  his 
CpinioD,  in  a  book  entitled  Thingt  Divine  and  SupernatuTal  c(jn- 
teiveJ  iy  axa/ggy  ■wiih  Th'ntgi  Natural  ajid  Human^  published  about 
a  year  after  Al^fkran.  Nearly  two  hundred  pages  '■■  are  given 
principally  to  an  attack  upon  Berkeley.  It  will  hardly  be  main- 
tained now,  cither  that  Berkeley's  humanizing  of  the  Divine 
Ideas,  or  Browne's  attempt  by  what  he  calls  analog  to  express  the 
:prc5ib!e,  are  satisfactory  ways  of  meeting  the  question  which 
the  further  development  of  Berkeley's  philosophy  had  brought  him 
in  front  of.  And  in  Berkeley's  comparison  between  our  power  of 
seeing  other  men,  and  our  alleged  sensible  sight  of  God,  one  misses 
ihc  moral  depth  and  sublimity  of  the  T>tus  atsconditus  of  Pascal. 

The  Minute  Philosopher  is  fiirther  interesting  for  the  light  it 
throws  upon  Berkeley's  reasons  for  accepting  Christianity;  and 
also  upon  his  thoughts  about  what  the  Christian  mysteries  actually 
That  there  is  no  need  to  depart  from  the  received  rules  of 
reasoning  in  order  to  justify  the  belief  of  Christians,  is  his 
lavouritc  maxim.  Probable  or  matter  of  fact  evidence  is  with 
Berkeley,  as  with  Butler,  a  sufficient  ground  for  Christian  faith. 
Demonstration  is  out  of  the  question :  he  that  will  use  his  eyes 
may  see  enough,  he  thinks,  for  the  purposes  cither  of  nature  or  of 


200  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

grace.  ^And  it  will  be  sufficient,'  he  remarks  (anticipating 
Butler,  whose  Analogy  followed  four  years  after) — ^'it  will  be 
sufficient  if  such  analogy  appears  between  the  dispensations 
of  grace  and  nature,  as  may  make  it  probable  (although  much 
should  be  unaccountable  in  both)  to  suppose  them  derived  from 
the  same  author,  and  the  workmanship  of  one  and  the  same  hand' 
This  was  the  language  of  Anglican  theology  at  that  time,  and 
Berkeley's  Alcipbrw^  though  for  very  different  qualities,  is  probably 
entitled  to  as  high  a  place  as  the  Analogy  of  Butler,  as  one  of 
the  two  great  English  essays  in  philosophical  theology.  Those  who 
decline  to  rest  their  faith  in  Christianity,  and  in  a  theological  ex- 
planation of  the  universe,  upon  a  practical  instinct  of  probability, 
similar  to  that  from  which  we  derive  our  assurance  of  the  exist- 
ence of  sensible  things,  and  of  other  human  beings  like  ourselves, 
must  remember  that  this  was  the  conception  most  in  harmony 
with  the  English  thinking  of  that  age.  The  claims  of  a  spiritual 
intuition  of  what  is  supernatural  seem  to  have  sustained  Pascal  in 
the  seventeenth  century.  They  are  now  again  pressed  by  some 
whose  moral  and  spiritual  experience  of  religion  seems  to  make 
them  indifferent  to  questions  about  its  origin  which  refer  us 
to  historical  events  in  the  sensible  world.  But  they  were  hardly 
recognised  in  the  days  of  Berkeley  and  Butler.  If  they  had  been 
brought  to  their  notice,  both  these  philosophical  persons  might 
have  allowed  that  their  own  point  of  view  was  one-sided  and 
defective. 

The  last  dialogue  in  Alclphron  is  perhaps  the  most  important  of 
all  for  understanding  the  history  of  Berkeley's  mind  in  this  part  of 
his  life.  It  contains  a  defence  of  the  possibility  of  the  Christian 
mysteries,  in  consistency  with  his  own  principles  of  human 
knowledge.  At  first  sight,  his  early  polemic  against  abstractions 
and  scholasticism  has  a  purely  sensationalist  tendency,  unfavour- 
able to  the  recognition  of  what  is  mysterious,  either  in  nature 
or  in  religion.  If  the  material  world  is  to  be  analysed  into 
a  personal  experience  of  sensations,  because  abstract  Matter  is 
inconceivable,  we  are  apt  to  ask  whether,  for  a  like  reason,  all 
other  inconceivables,  along  with  the  words  by  which  men  pretend 
to  represent  them,  should  not  be  tested  similarly.  If  the  New 
Principle  reduces  Matter,  does  it  not  also  reduce  every  other 
Mystery  ? 


J  Back  to  London,  201 

Berkeley  does  not  put  this  question  to  himself.  But  he  unfolds 
id  applies  a  view  of  what  human  wards  may  lawfully  be  employed 
which  we  find  glimmering  in  the  Principles  of  Human  Kna^- 
tgt.  Words,  he  says,  are  not  to  be  dismissed  as  necessarily 
elcss,  when  they  do  not  stand  for  individual  ideas  of  sense 
imagio^tioa  —  for  sensations,  or  for  images  of  sensations, 
dnguage  addresses  itself  to  the  Will  as  well  as  to  the  Under- 
iding.  Words  have  'another  use,  besides  that  of  marking  and 
;csting  distinct  ideas,  to  wit,  the  influencing  our  conduct  and 
Ktionsj  which  may  be  done  either  by  forming  rules  for  us  to 
by,  or  by  r.iising  certain  passions,  dispositions,  or  emotions 
«r  minds.  A  discourse,  therefore,  that  directs  how  to  act,  or 
ites  to  the  doing  or  forbearance  of  an  action,  may  be  useful  and 
^niAcant,  although  the  words  whereof  it  is  composed  should  not 
knag  each  a  distinct  idea  into  our  minds.'  Oversight  of  this  has, 
tbinJcs,  been  the  occasion  of  the  whole  scholastic  heresy  of 
bbact  ideas.  We  can  fi^rm  no  abstract  ideas  of  p-Me^  original 
aod  the  Trinity^  any  more  than  wc  can  oi  force  or  numier.  But 
we  may  form  many  true  and  useful  propositions  about  all  of 
fitted  to  aSca  our  lives  and  actions.  These  appeal  to  the 
tactical  reason  which  regulates  the  feelings  and  determinations. 
It  to  the  speculative  intellect  which  requires  particular  and 
rtinct  ideas. 

Berkeley  cannot  be  said  to  have  gone  to  the  bottom  of  this 
nutter.  It  is  to  be  wished  that  he  had  explained  more  fully  his  dis- 
tinction between  ideas  and  tuitions,  and  had  given  us  a  more  satis- 
iactory  account  of  the  universalizing  reason  in  man.  But  he  in- 
tended to  recc^nise  the  utility  and  indispensablencss  of  propositions 
ind  processes  of  reasoning  the  terms  of  which  are  not  concerned 
with  concrete  phenomena  of  sense  and  sensuous  imagination. 
Thil  there  are  such  propositions  in  religion  he  allowed;  but  he 
ailded,  there  are  such  also  in  science  t  they  lie  at  the  roots  of  both. 
Men  of  science  who  complain  of  them  in  religion  must  meet  the 
iclort  that  they  are  themselves  ail  the  time  employing  them  in 
their  own  deductions.  Even  the  mathematicians  are  not  exempt. 
Berkeley  had  them  in  his  eye,  at  this  very  point  of  view,  when  he 
was  writing  his  Prhmplts  of  Human  Knowledge  more  than  twenty 
years  before".     In  Alcifhroa  he  speaks  more  plainly.    'Even  the 


I 


i02  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

mathematical  sciences  themselves,'  Euphranor  is  made  to  say', 
<  which  above  all  others  are  reckoned  the  most  clear  and  certain, 
if  they  are  considered,  not  as  instruments  to  direct  our  practice, 
but  as  speculations  to  employ  our  curiosity,  will  be  found  to  fiaJl 
short,  in  many  instances,  of  those  clear  and  distinct  ideas,  which, 
it  seems,  the  Minute  Philosophers  of  this  age,  whether  knowingly 
or  ignorantly,  expect  or  insist  upon  in  the  mysteries  of  religion.' 
This  sentence  foreshadows  a  controversy  which  Berkeley  com- 
menced soon  after  Alciphrm  was  published. 

Berkeley's  curiously  reasoned  defence  of  religion  soon  made 
a  noise  in  the  literary  world.  The  most  original  and  ingenious 
reasonings  in  the  book  were  ill  understood  both  by  friends  and 
foes.  Its  graceful  style,  and  fine  current  of  imagination^  were 
acknowledged  by  all  who  were  able  to  appreciate  these  qualities. 
*  1  have  not  seen  Dean  Berkeley,'  writes  Gay  the  poet  to  Swift,  on 
the  19th  of  May,  173a,  three  or  four  months  after  Berkelc/s 
return  from  Rhode  Island,  and  very  soon  after  the  publication 
of  Alclpkron^ — ^'I  have  not  seen  Dean  Berkeley,  but  have  read 
his  book,  and  like  many  parts  of  it;  but  in  general  think 
with  you,  that  it  is  too  speculative,  at  least  for  me.'  ^  Though 
I  have  room,'  writes  Bolingbroke,  flippantly,  on  the  i8th  of  July, 
'I  will  not  say  one  word  to  you  about  Berkeley's  or  Delan/s^ 
book.  Some  part  of  the  former  is  hard  to  be  understood;  none 
of  the  latter  is  to  be  read.  I  propose,  however,  to  reconcile  you 
to  metaphysics,  by  showing  how  they  may  be  employed  against 
metaphysicians ;  and  that  whenever  you  do  not  understand  them, 
nobody  else  does ;  no,  not  those  who  write  them  ^®.'  Warburton, 
with  homage  to  Berkeley  as  a  man,  assailed  him  as  a  philosopher; 
Hoadly,  in  a  remarkable  letter  to  Lady  Sundon,  shows  a  more  un- 
friendly spirit ".  A  superficial  attack  attributed  to  Lord  Hervcy, 
the  '  Sporus'  of  Pope,  was  one  of  several  ephemeral  attacks  to  which 
Alctphrm  was  exposed  in  the  course  of  this  summer  ^*. 

A  more  important  criticism,  directed  against  the  most  original 

^  Aleipbron,  Dial.  VII.  sect.  17.  ^  It  is  professedly  a  LeUtrfrom  a  Cmmtrj 

*  Religion  Examined  with  Candour  {I'll!),  Clergyman,    In  the  Acta  Erud,  for  1737 

by  Patrick  Delany,  D.D.  there  is  an  analysis  o(  Aldpbron,  and  before 

^^  See  Swift's  Correspondence.  that   it  was  translated  into  French.     See 

"  See  Hoadly 's  Life,  prefixed  to  the  folio  Ublii  SyUoge  Nova  EpisL  vol.  IV.  (lib.  X.) 

edition  of  his  Works,  p.  li.  pp.  aa6,  430,  for  an  onfaroarable  reference. 


vl]  Back  to  London.  203 

pot  of  Berkeley^  new  work^  appeared  later  in  the  year.  The  Essmj 
mfmmrit  m  Nkw  TbimyrfFisim  of  1709  was  appended  to  Aldfbr^i 
md  the  conception  cS  a  Visual  Language  was^  as  I  have  said^ 
ciplained  and  applied  in  the  fourth  dialogue,  in  vindication  of  a 
constant  immediate  Providence  in  the  universe.  One  of  the  most 
carious  and  beautiful  of  his  speculations  in  this  way  challenged 
ciiticisni.  On  the  9th  of  September,  173^9  ^^  anonymous  critical 
Letter,  republished  in  the  first  volume  of  this  edition  of  Berkeley's 
works,  appeared  in  the  London  Dmly  Fost  Boy.  This  Letter 
alonc^  among  the  criticisms  whidi  AU^brom  gave  rise  to^  moved 
lerkdey  to  reply.  We  owe  to  it  his  neory  rf  f^shm  vmMcaud 
md  ts^UAm^  which  appeared  in  January  1735.  In  this  ingenious 
tiact,  Bo'keley  re^^tates,  not  analytically  as  at  first,  but  con- 
stmctively,  the  (psychological)  doctrine  about  the  relations  of 
d^  and  touch  whidi  he  had  published  nearly  a  quarter  of  a 
omtury  befi>re  —  and  this  time  without  that  reservation  of 
kis  conception  of  the  metaf^ysical  meaning  of  the  sensible 
iPorid  as  a  whole  which  had  embarrassed  his  juvenile  essay. 
In  fiict,  the  VtmBeathm  contains  the  latest,  and  perhaps  the 
dearest,  statement  of  the  grounds  on  which  Berkeley  rested  his 
belief  in  the  nature  of  the  material  world,  in  Supreme  Mind  as 
its  ultimate  substance,  and  in  supreme  intending  Will  as  the 
ultimate  cause  of  its  changes.  That  this  tract  should  have  been 
almost  forgotten  for  more  than  a  century,  and  omitted  from  all  the 
collected  editions  of  Berkeley's  works,  is  another  illustration  of  his 
paradoxical  antagonism  to  the  unspeculative  generation  in  which 
he  lived.  The  blot  in  the  tract  is  its  tone  of  almost  polemical 
bitterness,  directed  especially  against  Shaftesbury,  unusual  with 
Berkeley,  though  there  are  traces  of  it  in  Alciphrm. 


For  twelve  months  after  his  return  from  Rhode  Island,  we  can 
follow  Berkeley  only  in  the  writings  which  he  was  then  publishing, 
and  in  contemporary  allusions  to  them.  London  seems  to  have 
been  his  head  quarters  all  that  year.  The  following  letters  to 
Thomas  Prior,  written  in  the  spring  of  1733,  show  a  tendency 
towards  Dublin,  and  reveal  some  of  his  less  important  doings 
and  designs  about  this  time : — 


204  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch 

Dear  Tom, 

I  THANK  you  for  the  good  account  you  sent  me  of  the  house,  &c.,  ii 
Arbor  Hill*^.  I  approve  of  that  and  the  terms ;  so  you  will  fix  the  agree 
ment  for  this  year  to  come  (according  to  the  tenor  of  your  letter)  wit! 
Mr.  Lesly,  to  whom  my  humble  service.  I  remember  one  of  that  name 
a  good  sort  of  man,  a  class  or  two  below  me  in  the  College.  I  am  willing 
to  pay  for  the  whole  year  commencing  from  the  25th  instant;  but  cannol 
take  the  furniture,  &c.,  into  my  charge  till  I  go  over,  which  I  truly  pro- 
pose to  do  as  soon  as  my  wife  is  able  to  travel.  But,  as  I  told  you  in 
my  last,  my  wife  expects  to  be  brought  to  bed  in  two  months;  and 
having  had  two  miscarriages,  one  of  which  she  was  extremely  ill  of  in 
Rhode  Island,  she  cannot  venture  to  stir  before  she  is  delivered,  lliis 
circumstance,  not  foreseen,  occasions  an  unexpected  delay,  putting  off 
to  summer  the  journey  I  proposed  to  take  in  spring.  Mr.  Leslj, 
therefore,  or  whoever  is  at  present  in  it,  may  continue  there  gratis  for 
about  three  months  to  come. 

I  hope  our  affair  with  Partinton  will  be  finished  this  tenn.  We  arc 
here  on  the  eve  of  great  events,  to-morrow  being  the  day  appointed  for 
a  pitched  battle  in  the  House  of  Commons.  I  hope  to  hear  from  you 
speedily,  particularly  on  the  subject  of  my  two  last  letters.  I  have  no 
objection  to  you  setting  the  Deanery  to  Messrs.  Skipton  and  Crook- 
shanks  for  two  years,  as  you  propose,  provided  the  security  be  good 
My  wife  gives  her  service  to  you ;  and  my  son,  who  (I  thank  God)  is 
very  well,  desires  me  to  send  his  love  and  service  to  Mr.  Puddl^a. 
I  am  your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

G.  BERKELEY. 
Green-sireei,  March  13,  1732 — 3. 


London^  March  27,  1733. 
Dear  Tom, 

This  comes  to  desire  you'll  exert  yourself  on  a  public  account,  which 
you  know  is  acting  in  your  proper  sphere.  It  has  been  represented 
here,  that  in  certain  parts  of  the  kingdom  of  Ireland,  justice  is  much 
obstructed  for  the  want  of  justices  of  the  peace,  which  is  only  to  be 
remedied  by  taking  in  dissenters.  A  great  man  hath  spoke  to  me  on 
this  point.  I  told  him  the  view  of  this  was  plain ;  and  that,  in  order  to 
facilitate  this  view,  I  suspected  the  account  was  invented,  for  that  I  did 

i^  In  Dublin. 


i]  Back  to  London.  205 

ot  dnak  ft  true.  Depend  vagoa  it,  better  service  cannot  be  done  at 
resent  dan  bf  petting  tfais  matter  as  soon  as  posdble  in  a  fair  light,  and 
at  sopported  bf  sodi  pioofs  as  may  be  convincing  here.  I  therefore 
commend  it  to  jroo  to  make  the  speediest  and  ezactest  inquiry  that  yon 
n  ialo  the  tiiitfa  of  this  fact;  the  result  whereof  send  to  me.  Send  me 
10  die  best  cslmalr  yon  can  get  of  the  number  of  papists,  (JKssenters, 
id  ciinrcim>c%  tfarong^iout  the  kingdom ;  an  estimate  also  of  dissenters 
naderabie  for  rank,  %ure,  and  estate;  an  estimate  also  of  the  papists 
Uhter.  Be  as  dear  in  diese  points  as  you  can  ^\  When  the  above-* 
entioned  point  was  put  to  me»  I  said  diat  in  my  apprehension  there 
IS  no  audi  kdL  of  justice  or  magistrates  except  in  Kerry  and  Con- 
mijbk,  wliere  the  dissenters  were  not  considerable  enough  to  be  of  any 
le  m  rediesaing  die  eviL  Let  me  know  particularly  whether  there  be 
qrsndi  want  of  justices  of  the  peace  in  the  county  of  Londonderry ;  or 
hedber  men  are  aggrieved  there  by  being  obliged  to  cepair  to  them  ait 
K>  great  distances.  The  prime  seijeant,  Singleton,  may  probably  be  a 
leans  oi  assisting  you  to  get  light  in  these  particulars.  The  dispatch 
m  give  this  affiur  will  be  doing  the  best  service  to  your  country. 
JiaUe  me  to  dear  up  the  truth,  and  to  support  it,  by  such  reasons  and 
irfmnnies  as  may  be  felt  or  credited  here.  Facts  I  am  myself  too 
todi  a  stranger  to,  though  I  promise  to  make  the  best  use  I  can  of 
K)se  you  furnish  me  with,  towards  taking  off  an  impression  which  I  fear 
I  already  deep.  If  I  succeed,  I  shall  congratulate  my  being  here  at  this 
mcture.     Yours, 

G.  BERKELEY. 


Green-street,  April  14, 1733. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  THANK  you  for  your  last,  particularly  for  that  part  of  it  wherein  you 
romise  the  numbers  of  the  justices  of  the  peace,  of  the  Papists  also, 
nd  of  the  Protestants,  throughout  the  kingdom,  taken  out  of  proper 
ffices.  I  did  not  know  such  inventories  had  been  taken  by  public 
ithority,  and  am  glad  to  find  it  so.  Your  arguments  for  proving 
apists  but  three  to  one,  I  had  before  made  use  of;  but  some  of  the 
emises  are  not  clear  to  Englishmen.  Nothing  can  do  so  well  as  the 
dmate  you  speak  of,  to  be  taken  from  a  public  office ;  which  therefore 
impatiently  expect. 

»•  This   is   a  subject  to  which  Berkeley      also  in  his  Charge  to  the  dergy  of  the  dio- 
eraJ  times  refers,  in  the  following  letters ;       cese  of  Cloyne. 


:io6  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

As  to  the  design  I  hinted,  whether  it  is  to  be  set  on  foot  there  or  here 
I  cannot  say.  I  hope  it  will  take  effect  nowhere.  It  is  yet  a  secret  I 
may  nevertheless  discover  something  of  it  in  a  little  time ;  and  you  may 
then  hear  more. 

The  political  state  of  things  on  this  side  the  water  I  need  say  nothing 
of.  The  public  papers  probably  say  too  much ;  though  it  cannot  be 
denied  much  may  be  said. 

I  would  have  Petit  Rose's  fine,  and  the  deficiencies  of  the  last  pay- 
ments of  the  Deanery  farms,  paid  into  Swift  and  Company  to  answer  my 
demand.  As  soon  as  this  is  done,  pray  let  me  know,  that  I  may  draw 
accordingly. 

I  must  desire  you,  in  your  next,  to  let  me  know  what  premium  there 
is  for  getting  into  the  public  fund,  which  allows  ^wt  per  cent,  in  Ireland; 
and  whether  a  considerable  simi  might  easily  be  purchased  therein? 
Also,  what  is  the  present  legal  interest  in  Ireland?  and  whether  it  be 
easy  to  lay  out  money  on  a  secure  mortgage  where  the  interest  should 
be  punctually  paid  ? 

I  shall  be  also  glad  to  hear  a  word  about  the  law-suit  I  am,  dear 
Tom,  your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

G.  BERKELEY. 

My  wife  and  child's  service  to  you. 


April  19,  1733. 
Dear  Tom, 

Not  finding  Mr.  Percival  at  home,  I  got  his  valet-de-chambre  and 
another  Irish  servant  to  witness  to  the  letter  of  attorney ;  which  herewith 
I  send  you  back.   You  may  farm  the  Deanery  to  the  persons  mentioned, 
since  you  find  their  security  to  be  good,  for  two  years.     I  thank  you  for 
your  last  advices,  and  the  catalogue  of  justices  particularly ;  of  all  which 
the  proper  use  shall  be  made.     The  nimiber  of  Protestants  and  Papists 
throughout  the  kingdom,  which  in  your  last  but  one  you  said  had  been 
lately  and  accurately  taken  by  the  collectors  of  hearth-money,  you  pro- 
mised, but  have  omitted  to  send.     I  shall  hope  for  it  in  your  next.     The 
enclosed  subpoena  (as  I  take  it  to  be)  was  left  two  days  ago  at  my 
lodging  by  an  unknown  person.     As  I  am  a  stranger  to  what  hath  been 
done  or  is  doing  in  the  suit  with  Partinton,  I  thought  proper  to  transmit 
it  unto  you ;  who,  upon  perusal  thereof,  will  know  or  take  advice  what  is 
to  be  done,  without  delay,  to  avoid  further  expense  or  trouble,  which 
may  be  incurred  by  neglect  of  this  hitlet-doux.     In  your  next  let  me 


VI.]  Back  to  London.  207 

bow  your  thoughts  on  this  and  the  whole  affair.  My  wife  and  child 
give  their  service.  We  are  all  glad  to  hear  of  your  welfare.  I  am,  dear 
Tom,  yours  sincerely, 

GEOR.  BERKELEY. 


Dear  Tom, 

I  LOKG  for  the  numeration  of  Protestant  and  Popish  families,  which 
yoQ  ten  me  has  been  taken  by  the  collectors.  A  certain  person  now 
here  hath  represented  the  Papists  as  seven  to  one  ;  which,  I  have  ven- 
tured to  affirm,  is  wide  of  the  truth.  What  lights  you  gave  me  I  have 
imparted  to  those  who  will  make  the  proper  use  of  them.  I  do  not  find 
that  any  thing  was  intended  to  be  done  by  act  of  parliament  here.  As 
to  that,  your  information  seems  right.  I  hope  they  will  be  able  to  do 
nothing  anywhere. 

I  give  my  consent  to  your  setting  the  Deanery  for  three  years,  and  for 
postponing  the  later  payment  to  the  first  of  July  in  consideration  that  it 
will,  as  you  say,  produce  punctual  payment.  As  to  a  gardener,  I  do  not 
design  to  hire  one  into  my  service,  but  only  employ  him  by  the  job. 
Your  letter  of  attorney  I  sent  back  to  you,  signed  and  witnessed,  the 
following  post  after  I  had  received  it. 

The  approaching  Act  at  Oxford**  is  much  spoken  of.  The  entertain- 
ments of  music,  &c.,  in  the  theatre,  will  be  the  finest  that  ever  were 
known.  For  other  public  news,  I  reckon  you  know  as  much  as  your 
affectionate  humble  servant, 

GEOR.  BERKELEY. 

My  wife  sends  her  service.  She  is  well  for  one  in  her  circumstances ; 
so  is  my  little  boy.  Your  letter  came  not  to  my  hands  before  yesterday. 
Let  me  hear  if  you  know  any  fair  man,  of  a  clear  estate,  that  wants  two 
or  three  thousand  pounds  at  5^  per  cent,  on  mortgage. 

London,  May  i,  1733. 

After  May  we  hardly  see  any  more  of  Berkeley  for  the  remainder 
of  1733.  We  may  infer  that  he  continued  in  London.  In  the 
end  of  May  we  know  that  he  got  the  books  for  Yale  College  con- 


"  Seeker  received  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  reference   to  the     amiable  daughter-in-law 

Laws  at  Oxford  on  the  occasion  here  referred  of  the  learned  Dodwell,  one  of  the  three 

to,  when  he  preached  his  Act  Sermon,  on  the  celebrated   beauties   at  the   Public   Act    in 

'  Advantages  of  Academical  Education.'     In  Oxford  in  1733.' 
the  Prefact  to  Monci  Berkeley^  there   is  a 


2o8  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

signed  to  Captain   Alden,  master  of  the  Dolphm^  and  that  in 
August  he  settled  the  deed  of  conveyance  of  the  Whitehall  farm. 

On  the  28th  of  September  his  second  son  George  was  bom,  in 
Green-street,  London — who  alone  of  his  children  prolonged  the 
line  to  the  third  generation. 

The  London  of  1732  and  1733  still  contained  some  of  his 
old  friends.  Dr.  Samuel  Clarke,  the  former  interlocutor  in  the 
controversies  of  Leicester  House,  died  the  year  after  Berkeley's 
departure  to  Rhode  Island.  The  rectory  of  St.  James*,  West- 
minster, was  now  occupied  by  Seeker.  Benson  was  still  a 
Prebendary  of  Durham  and  Chaplain  to  the  King.  Sherlock  was 
Master  of  the  Temple  and  Bishop  of  Bangor,  and  Gibson,  a  great 
theological  light  of  that  age,  was  Bishop  of  London.  Clayton, 
whom  Berkeley  left  in  London  in  1728,  and  who  there  nego- 
tiated some  of  his  affairs  during  his  absence,  was  now  settled 
in  his  bishopric  at  Killala,  and  Butler  was  in  studious  retirement 
in  his  northern  rectory.  Of  his  early  friends.  Swift  had  quitted 
England  for  ever,  and  Steele  had  followed  Addison  to  the  grave. 
John  Gay,  the  common  friend  of  Berkeley  and  Pope,  died  in 
December  \  732,  and  Arbuthnot  was  approaching  his  end  at  Hamp- 
stead.  But  Pope  was  still  at  Twickenham,  publishing  his  'Essmj  #» 
Man^  receiving  visits  from  Bolingbroke,  or  visiting  Lord  Bathurst 
at  Cirencester  Park. 

During  this,  which  turned  out  to  be  Berkeley's  last  visit  to 
London,  there  are  sundry  symptoms  of  his  growing  inclination  for 
a  secluded  life.  Bishop  Stock  says  that  after  his  return  from 
Rhode  Island  '  the  Queen  often  commanded  his  attendance  to 
discourse  with  him  on  what  he  had  observed  worthy  of  notice  in 
America,'  If  this  means  that  he  was  now  in  the  way  of  attending 
much  at  Court,  it  is  inconsistent  with  what  he  says  himself  in  one 
of  the  following  letters.  He  was  not,  however,  foi^otten  by  the 
Queen.  When  Hoadly,  the  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  ^  who  was  no 
friend,'  condemned  his  philosophy,  and  proclaimed  his  Bermuda 
project  to  be  the  reverie  of  a  visionary,  Berkeley's  old  ally 
Sherlock,  now  one  of  the  Queen's  chaplains,  carried  a  copy  of 
Alciphron  to  the  palace, '  asking  whether  such  a  work  could  be  the 
production  of  a  disordered  understanding.'  This,  with  the  recol- 
lection of  the  charm  of  his  conversation,  so  influenced  the  Queen, 
that  when  the  rich  Deanery  of  Down  fell  vacant,  soon  after  his 


^    VI.]  Back  to  Lotidon.  209 

fctum  from  America,  he  was  at  her  desire  nominated,  and  the 
King's  letter  actually  came  over  for  his  appointment.  But  his 
ftiend  Lord  Burlington  having  neglected. to  announce  the  royal 
intentions  in  proper  time  to  the  Duke  of  Dorset,  the  Lord- 
Lieutenant,  his  Excellency  was  so  ofiended  at  the  disposal  of  the 
richest  Deanery  in  Ireland  without  his  concurrence,  that  it  was 
thought  right  not  to  urge  the  matter  further  ^^. 

In  January  1734,  Berkeley  reappears,  writing  to  his  friend 
Prior.  The  following  interesting  letters  open  a  new  vista  in  his 
history.  He  was  now  nominated  to  the  bishopric  of  Cloyne,  in 
succession  to  his  college  friend  Dn  Edward  Synge,  and  we  have 
soon  to  follow  him  to  the  remote  region  in  Ireland  which 
was  to  be  his  home.  The  mild  enthusiasm  of  Berkeley,  and  his 
unfitness  for  political  agency  in  the  Irish  Establishment,  were 
not  likely  to  recommend  him,  under  the  rules  by  which  its 
patronage  was  then  dispensed.  But  the  friendship  of  the  philo- 
sophic Queen,  and  perhaps  some  regard  to  what  was  due  after 
the  Bermuda  disappointment,  may  explain  the  ministerial  approval 
of  the  unworldly  social  idealist  and  philosopher  for  the  see  of 
Cloyne — where  he  shone  as  a  star  amid  the  comparative  darkness 
of  the  Irish  Church  in  the  eighteenth  century.  The  letters  also 
reveal  fresh  endeavours  in  study,  particularly  in  mathematics, 
and  intentions  to  return  to  Ireland  that  were  frustrated  by  ill 
health:— 

Green-street^  London ^  Jan.  7,  1733 — 4. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  DID  not  intend  you  should  have  made  the  proposal  to  the  B.  of  D. 
[Bishop  of  Deny  or  of  Dromore  ?] ;  but  since  you  did,  am  well  enough 
pleased  with  his  answer.  Only  I  would  have  the  matter  understood  as 
proposed  and  transacted  by  yourself,  without  my  privity,  as  indeed  it 
was.  I  had  myself  thought  of  a  preferment,  a  sinecure  in  the  North, 
formerly  possessed  by  old  Charles  Lesly.  I  took  it  to  be  the  chan- 
cellorship of  Connor",  and  imagined  it  might  have  been  in  the  gift  of 
the  Crown ;  but  do  now  believe  it  to  be  that  you  mention,  possessed  by 

**  Richard  Daniel  seems  to  hare  been  pre-  and  other  theological   and  political  tracts, 

scoted  to  the  Deanery  of  Down   in   Feb.  was  at  one  time  Chancellor  of  Connor,  but 

1 73 J,  and  beheld  it  till  1739.  deprived  at  the  Revolution.      He  died    in 

"  Charles  Leslie,  the  Non-juror,  author  of  1721. 
A  Short  and  Eaty  Method  with  tht  Deitts, 

VOL.  IV.  P 


2IO  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

Dr.  Wetherby^",  and  in  the  Bishop's  disposal.  I  must  desire  that  your 
next  step  may  be  to  inform  yourself  precisely  what  the  Deanery  and  that 
Chancellorship  are  each  at  this  present  time  actually  set  for ;  and  not  to 
say  a  word  of  the  notion  I  have  conceived  (which  is  indeed  an  hypo- 
thetical one)  to  any  mortal :  but  only,  as  soon  as  you  have  infonned 
yourself,  to  send  me  an  account  of  the  foresaid  values. 

My  family  are,  I  thank  God,  all  well  at  present ;  but  it  will  be  impos- 
sible for  us  to  travel  before  the  spring.  As  to  myself,  by  regular  living, 
and  rising  very  early  (which  I  find  the  best  thing  in  the  world),  I  am 
very  much  mended;  insomuch,  that  though  I  cannot  read,  yet  my 
thoughts  seem  as  distinct  as  ever.  I  do  therefore,  for  amusement,  pass 
my  early  hours  in  thinking  of  certain  mathematical  matters,  which  may 
possibly  produce  something. 

I  doubt  not  you  have  done  as  I  advised  in  settling  accounts  with 
M'Manus ;  at  least  that  you  have  his  bonds  till  he  pay  what  is  due.  Yoo 
say  nothing  of  the  law- suit ;  I  hope  it  is  to  surprise  me  in  your  next  with 
an  account  of  its  being  finished. 

Perhaps  the  house  and  garden  on  Montpelier-hill^'  may  be  got  a  good 

pennyworth ;  in  which  case,  I  should  not  be  averse  to  buying  it,  as  also 

the  furniture  of  the  bed-chambers  and  kitchen,  if  they  may  be  had  cheap. 

It  is  probable  a  tenement  in  so  remote  a  part  may  be  purchased  at  an 

easy  rate.     I  must,  therefore,  entreat  you  not  to  omit  inquiring  in  the 

properest  manner  about  it,  and  sending  me  the  result  of  your  inquiry. 

You'll  be  so  good  as  to  take  care  of  the  inclosed  letter.     My  wife's  and 

son's  services  wait  on  you.    I  am,  dear  Tom,  your  afifectionate  humble 

servant, 

G.  BERKELEY. 


London,  Jan,  15,  1733—4- 
Dear  Tom, 

I  RECEIVED  last  post  your  three  letters  together;  for  which  advices 
I  give  you  thanks.  I  had  at  the  same  time  two  from  Baron  Wainwright* 
on  the  same  account. 

That,  without  my  intermeddling,  I  may  have  the  offer  of  somewhat,  I 
am  apt  to  think,  which  may  make  me  easy  in  point  of  situation  and 
income,  though  I  question  whether  the  dignity  will  much  contribute  to 
make  me  so.  Those  who  imagine  (as  you  write)  that  I  may  pick  and 
choose,  to  be  sure  think  that  I  have  been  making  my  court  here  all  this 

"  Probably  John  Wctherby,  D.D.,  then  "  In  Dublin. 

Dean  of  Cashel  and  Archdeacon  of  Connor.  *>  John  Wainwright,  Baron  of  Exchequer 

He  died  in  1 736.  in  Ireland  1 733 — 34. 


vl]  Back  to  London,  2 1 1 

time,  and  would  never  believe  (what  is  most  true),  that  I  have  not  been 
It  the  Court  or  at  the  Minister's  but  once  these  seven  years.  The  care 
of  my  health,  and  the  love  of  retirement,  have  prevailed  over  whatsoever 
ambition  might  have  come  to  my  share. 

I  approve  of  the  proposal  you  make  from  Mr.  Nichols  for  my  con- 
tinuing the  tenement  upon  Arbor  Hill ",  at  the  same  rent,  till  I  go  over 
and  can  make  a  judgment  thereupon.  As  soon  as  any  thing  is  done 
here,  yoa  shall  be  sure  to  hear  from  me ;  and  if  any  thing  occurs  there 
(or  even  if  there  doth  not),  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  from  you.  We  are 
al  well  at  your  service.  I  am,  dear  Tom,  your  affectionate  humble 
Krvant, 

G.  BERKELEY. 

It  was  something  odd  that  yours  of  January  ist  should  not  come  to 
my  hands  till  the  13th  at  night 

Pray  send  me  as  particular  an  account  as  you  can  get  of  the  country, 
the  situation,  the  house,  the  circumstances  of  the  bishopric  of  Cloyne ; 
and  let  me  know  the  charges  of  coming  into  a  bishopric,  i.  e.  the  amount 
of  the  fees  and  first-fruits.     I  remain,  yours,  &c. 


Dear  Tom, 

Since  my  last  I  have  kissed  their  Majesty's  hands  for  the  Bishopric  of 
Qoyne,  having  first  received  an  account  from  the  Duke  of  Newcastle's 
office,  setting  forth  that  his  Grace  ^  had  laid  before  the  King  the  Duke  of 
Dorset's  recommendation,  which  was  readily  complied  with  by  his 
Majesty.  The  condition  of  my  own  health,  and  that  of  my  family,  will 
not  suffer  me  to  travel  in  this  season  of  the  year.  I  must  therefore 
intreat  you  to  take  care  of  the  fees  and  patent,  which  Mr.  Delafoy  tells 
me  )**ill  be  perfected  there  in  consequence  of  the  King's  warrant  sent  to 
Mr.  Cary.  Let  me  know  what  the  fees  amount  to.  There  is  some 
proper  person  who  does  business  of  that  kind  to  whom  you  need  only 
pay  the  fees ;  which  I  will  draw  for  as  soon  as  you  let  me  know  the  sum. 
I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  from  you  what  particulars  you  can  learn  about 
this  Bishopric  of  Cloyne.  I  am  obliged  to  conclude  in  haste,  dear  Tom, 
jour  affectionate  humble  servant, 


London,  Jan.  19,  1733 — 4* 


G.  BERKELEY. 


■-'  Cf.  p.  aoi.  announcing  the  appointment,  is  dated  Jan. 

*^  Then  one  of  the  Secretaries  of  State.  19.  1734. 
The  King's  Letter  to  the  Duke  of  Dorset, 

P  1 


212  Life  afid  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cu. 

Dear  Tom, 

On  the  sixth  instant  the  Duke  sent  over  his  plan,  wherein  I  was  re- 
commended to  the  Bishopric  of  Cloyne.  On  the  fourteenth  I  received  a 
letter  from  the  secretary's  office,  signifying  his  Majesty's  having  imme- 
diately complied  therewith,  and  containing  the  Duke  of  Newcastle's  very 
obliging  compliments  thereupon.  In  all  this  I  was  nothing  surprised; 
his  Grace  the  Lord  Lieutenant  having  declared,  on  this  side  the  water, 
that  he  intended  to  serve  me  the  first  opportunity,  though  at  the  same 
time  he  desired  me  to  say  nothing  of  it.  As  to  the  A.  B.  D.  **  I  readily 
believe  he  gave  no  opposition.  He  knew  it  would  be  to  no  purpose  ; 
and  the  Queen  herself  had  expressly  enjoined  him  not  to  oppose  me. 
This  I  certainly  knew  when  the  A.  B.  was  here,  though  I  never  saw  him. 
Notwithstanding  all  which  I  had  a  strong  penchant  to  be  Dean  of 
Dromore,  and  not  to  take  the  charge  of  a  Bishopric  upon  me.  Those 
who  formerly  opposed  my  being  Dean  of  Down,  have  thereby  made  me 
a  Bishop ;  which  rank,  how  desirable  soever  it  may  seem,  I  had  before 
absolutely  determined  to  keep  out  of. 

The  situation  of  my  own  and  my  family's  health  will  not  suffer  me  to 
think  of  travelling  before  April.  However,  as  on  that  side  it  maybe 
thought  proper  that  I  should  vacate  the  Deanery  of  Deny,  I  am  ready, 
as  soon  as  I  hear  the  Bishopric  of  Cloyne  is  void,  by  Dr.  Synge's  being 
legally  possessed  of  the  See  of  Ferns,  to  send  over  a  resignation  of  my 
Deanery;  and  I  authorize  you  to  signify  as  much  where  you  think 
proper.  I  should  be  glad  you  sent  me  a  rude  plan  of  the  house  from 
Bishop  Synge's  description,  that  I  may  forecast  the  furniture.  The  great 
man  whom  you  mention  as  my  opponent  concerted  his  measures  but  ill; 
for  it  appears  by  your  letter,  that  at  the  very  time  when  my  brother**  in- 
formed the  Speaker  of  his  soliciting  against  me  there,  the  Duke's  plan 
had  already  taken  place  here,  and  the  resolution  was  passed  in  my  favour 
at  St.  James's.  I  am  nevertheless  pleased,  as  it  gave  me  an  opportunity 
of  being  obliged  to  the  Speaker,  which  I  shall  not  fail  to  acknowledge 
when  I  see  him,  which  will  probably  be  very  soon,  for  he  is  expected 
here  as  soon  as  the  Session  is  up.  My  family  are  well,  though  I  myself 
have  gotten  a  cold  this  sharp  foggy  weather,  having  been  obliged,  con- 
trary to  my  wonted  custom,  to  be  much  abroad  paying  compliments  and 
returning  visits.  We  are  all  at  your  service ;  and  I  remain,  dear  Tom, 
yours  affectionately, 

GEOR.  BERKELEY. 
London^  Jan.  22,  1733 — 4. 

*    John   Hoadly,  D.D.,   Archbishop   of      succeeded  to  the  Primacy. 
Dublin,    from    1730   till    1742,   when    he  *•  Probably  Robert. 


fvQ  Bmk  to  Lahdon.  ^i$ 

London^  fan.  28,  1733 — 4. 

brtlitfekCterfcml^iiietlieBishopricofClojneisletfor  i,aoo  pounds 
HMi^  out  (rf'  wltkdi  there  is  a  small  rent-charge  of  interest  to  be 
I  am  mfinmMd  by  a  letter  of  yours  which  I  received  this  day,  that 
ii  aBK>  a  domafii  of  800  acres  adjoining  to  the  episcopal  house. 
10  be  informed  by  your  next  whether  these  800  acres  are  under^ 
Ipod  to  be  over  and  above  the  i,aoo  pounds  per  anmm,  and  whether 
ihgr  vpoe  kept  by  former  bishops  in  their  own  hands? 
:  ia  ny  lu^  I  mentioned  to  you  the  impossibility  of  my  going  to  Ireland 
pMm  wpib^t  and  that  I  would  send  a  resignation  of  my  Deanery,  if 
luanediately  upon  the  vacancy  of  the  See  of  Cloyne.  I,  have 
told  that  this  would  be  a  step  of  some  hazard,  vizi  in  case  of 
s  deadi,  which  I  hope  is  far  Off.  dowever,  one  would  not  care 
li4o  a  liiii^  wiuch  may  seem  incautious  and  imprudent  in  the  eye  of 
iie  wotid;  not  but  that  I  would  rather  do  it  than  be  obliged  to  go  over 
M  ibn  season.  But,  as  the  bulk  of  the  Deanery  is  in  tithes,  and  a  very^ 
liKonaiderable  part  in  land,  the  damage  to  my  successor  would  be  but  a 
ItiBe  upofa  my  keeping  it  to  the  end  of  March.  I  would  know  what  you 
|iivise  on  dus  matter. 

My  wife  and  chOdren  are,  I  thank  God,  all  well  at  present,  and  join  in 
KTvice  to  you.     I  am,  dear  Tom,  your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

G.  BERKELEY. 

Not  long  since  I  sent  you  inclosed  a  letter  for  my  brother  Robin, 
which  I  desired  you  to  deliver  to  him.  It  contained  a  bill  of  forty 
pounds  upon  Swift  and  Company,  to  be  received  and  disposed  of  by  him. 
But  as  you  make  no  mention  of  this  letter,  and  I  have  had  no  account  of 
its  coming  to  hand,  I  begin  to  apprehend  it  might  have  miscarried ;  in 
which  case  I  desire  you  to  inquire  at  Swift's,  &c.,  to  give  warning.  Pray 
let  me  hear  next  post. 


Dear  Tom, 
This  comes  to  tell  you  that  I  have  been  for  several  days  laid  up  with 
the  gout.  When  I  last  wrote  to  you  I  was  confined ;  but  at  first  knew 
not  whether  it  might  not  be  a  sprain  or  hurt  from  the  shoe :  but  it  soon 
shewed  itself  a  genuine  fit  of  the  gout  in  both  my  feet,  by  the  pain,  in- 
flammation, swelling,  Ac,  attended  with  a  fever  and  restless  nights.  With 
my  feet  lapp'd  up  in  flannels,  and  raised  on  a  cushion,  I  receive  the  visits 
of  my  friends,  who  congratulate  me  on  this  occasion  as  much  as  on  my 
preferment. 


214  -^{/^  ^^^  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

As  to  Bishop  Synge's  furniture,  we  shall  be  able  to  judge  upon  seeing 
it,  which  will  be  as  soon  as  possible.  His  stock  and  his  overseer  wiU, 
I  think,  suit  my  purpose,  especially  if  I  keep  the  lands  in  my  own 
hands ;  concerning  which  I  would  know  your  opinion ;  as  also,  whether 
that  domain  be  reckoned  in  the  income  of  1,200  pounds  per  annum,  I 
conclude  with  my  wife  and  son's  compliments  to  yoiL  Dear  Tom,  your 
affectionate  humble  servant, 

G.  BERKELEY. 

London,  Feb.  7,  1733 — 4. 


London f  Feb.  19,  1734. 
Dear  Tom, 

Now  I  have  been  confined  three  weeks  by  gout,  an  unusual  length  for 
the  first  fit ;  but  my  friends  and  physician  think  it  will  be  of  so  much 
the  more  service  to  me  in  carrying  off  the  dregs  of  my  long  indisposition, 
and  clearing  my  head.  1  have  had  it  successively  in  my  feet,  head, 
stomach,  and  one  knee.  It  is  now  got  into  my  feet  again,  but  is  com- 
paratively very  gentle.  I  hope  to  get  soon  abroad :  but  I  shall  have 
some  business  to  do  beside  the  taking  leave  of  my  friends,  and  preparing 
things  for  my  departure  for  Ireland;  where,  I  am  sure,  I  long  to  be 
more  than  any  one  there  can  long  to  see  me.  I  must,  however,  neither 
hurt  my  health,  after  the  tenderness  of  a  long  confinement,  nor  neglect 
things  absolutely  necessar}\  And  to  make  people  concerned  as  easy  as 
I  am  able,  I  by  this  post  send  inclosed  to  Baron  Wainwright  a  formal 
resignation  of  my  Deanery.     Yours, 

GEOR.  BERKELEY. 


London,  Feb,  23,  1733 — 4* 
Dear  Tom, 

In  a  late  letter,  you  told  me  that  the  wardenship  of  Tuam,  to  which 
I  had  no  title,  was  inserted  in  my  patent  **.  But  some  time  since  I  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  one  Mr.  Rugge^,  a  class-fellow  of  mine  in  the  College, 
dated  from  Youghall,  of  which  town  he  tells  me  I  am  Warden.  Now,  il 
comes  into  my  head  that  there  may  be  a  mistake  in  the  patent  of  Tuam 
for  Youghall,  which  mistake  may  deprive  me  of  a  considerable  part  of  the 

^  The    *  Provostship    of    Tuam* — not  in  1699,  became  Recorder  of  Youghall,  and 

Youghall— is  mentioned  by  mistake  in  the  represented  that  town    in  Parliarocaat  from 

King's  Letter,  as  to  be  held  in  commendam  1 721  to  1731.*     (Brady's  Records^  vol.  II. 

with  the  See  of  Cloyne.  p.  169.) 

'•^ '  Henry  Rugge,  born  1 682, entered  S.C.D. 


w.]  Back  to  L&nd&H.  215 

ffiabopV  snoonie.  1  must  therefore  desire  you  to  look  into  the  patent  in 
Older  lo  dear  up  this  pointy  and  let  me  know  how  to  rectify  it.  Bishop 
Sjn^  ^bom  whom  1  have  not  yet  heard)  and  Mr.  Lingoi  can  tdl  how 
tbb  matter  stands^and  what  is  to  be  done.  Pray  send  me  the  &voiir  of 
m  Hue  by  next  post  on  this  head. 

I  have  not  yet  recdved  M'Manus's  accomit  for  the  last  year  of  his 
fiuming;  so  I  cannot  justly  say«  but  t  expected  a  much  greater  balance 
in  his  hands  than  50  pounds*  You  perceive,  by  the  so  pounds  over* 
chaiged  for  the  widows,  how  requisite  it  is  that  his  accounts  be  sharply 
kx>ked  after,  eq>ecia]ly  in  the  great  article  of  pa3ring  the  curates,  con- 
cerning whidi  I  alreacfy  wrote  you  my  thoughts*  As  I  confide  that  affair 
to  your  care,  I  trust  jrou  will  look  sharp,  and  not  suffer  me  to  be  inqxwed 
on.  I  need  not  mention  that  no  deductions  are  to  be  made  by  Mr. 
Sk^ton  for  cures,  since,  in  pursuance  to  your  letter,  I  agreed  they  should 
be  paid  out  of  the  profits  of  the  foregoing  year.  Pray,  in  your  next,  let 
me  know  when  I  may  expect  Mr.  Skiptcm's  payments,  that  I  may  ordtf 
my  affiurs  aooc^dingly;  and  whether  my  brother  be  gone  to  Clojoie.  I 
have  sent  a  resignation  of  the  Deanery  to  Baron  Wainwright,  witnessed 
by  Dr.King,  and  in  fiiU  form.  I  hope  to  get  abroad  in  two  days,  and  to 
be  able  to  put  on  my  gouty  shoes.    My  family  is  well,  and  give  their 

service.    Yours, 

G.  BERKELEY, 


London,  March  2,  1734. 
Dear  Tom, 

As  to  what  you  write  of  the  prospect  of  new  vacancies,  and  your 
advising  that  I  should  apply  for  a  better  bishoprick,  I  ihank  you  for  your 
advice.  But,  if  it  pleased  God  the  Bishop  of  Derry  were  actually  dead, 
and  there  were  ever  so  many  promotions  thereupon,  I  would  not  apply, 
or  so  much  as  open  my  mouth  to  any  one  friend  to  make  an  interest 
for  getting  any  of  them.  To  be  so  very  hasty  for  a  removal,  even 
before  I  had  seen  Cloyne,  would  argue  a  greater  greediness  for  lucre 
than  I  hope  I  shall  ever  have.  Not  but  that,  all  things  considered,  I 
have  a  fair  demand  upon  the  Government  for  expense  of  time  and  pains 
and  money,  on  the  faith  of  public  charters :  as  likewise  because  I  find 
the  income  of  Cloyne  considerably  less  than  was  at  first  represented.  I 
had  no  notion  that  I  should,  over  and  above  the  charge  of  patents  and 
first  fruits,  be  obliged  to  pay  between  £400  and  £500,  for  which  I  shall 
never  see  a  farthing  in  return ;  besides  interest  I  am  to  pay  for  upwards 
of  £300,  which  principal  devolves  upon  my  successor.     No  more  was  I 


2i6  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

apprized  of  three  curates,  viz.  two  at  Youghal  and  one  at  Agfaada,  to  be 
paid  by  me.  And,  after  all,  the  certain  value  of  the  income  I  have  not 
yet  learned.  My  predecessor  writes  that  he  doth  not  know  the  tnie 
value  himself,  but  believes  it  may  be  about  £i  200  per  annam,  including 
the  fines,  and  striking  them  at  a  medium  for  seven  years.  The  uncer- 
tainty, I  believe,  must  proceed  from  the  fines ;  but  it  may  be  supposed 
that  he  knows  exactly  what  the  rents  are,  and  what  the  tithes,  and  what 
the  payments  to  the  curates ;  of  which  particulars  you  may  probably  get 
an  account  from  him.  Sure  I  am,  that  if  I  had  gone  to  Derry,  and 
taken  my  affairs  into  my  own  hands,  I  might  have  made  considerably 
above  £1000  a  year,  after  paying  the  curates'  salaries.  And  as  for 
charities,  such  as  schoolboys,  widows,  &c.,  those  ought  not  to  be  reck- 
oned, because  all  sorts  of  charities,  as  well  as  contingent  expenses,  most 
be  much  higher  on  a  bishop  than  a  dean.  But  in  all  appearance,  sub- 
ducting the  money  that  I  must  advance,  and  all  expense  of  the  curates 
in  Youghal  and  Aghada,  I  shall  not  have  remaining  Xiooo  per  ann.; 
not  even  though  the  whole  income  was  worth  £1200,  of  which  I  doubt, 
by  Bishop  Synge's  uncertainty,  that  it  will  be  found  to  fall  short  I 
thank  you  for  the  information  you  gave  me  of  a  house  to  be  hired  in 
Stephen's  Green.  I  should  like  the  Green  very  well  for  situation :  but 
I  have  no  thoughts  of  taking  a  house  in  town  suddenly ;  nor  would  it  be 
convenient  for  my  affairs  so  to  do,  considering  the  great  expense  I  must 
be  at  on  coming  into  a  small  bishoprick.  My  gout  has  left  me.  I  have 
nevertheless  a  weakness  remaining  in  my  feet,  and,  what  is  worse,  an 
extreme  tenderness,  the  effect  of  my  long  confinement  I  was  abroad 
the  beginning  of  this  week  to  take  a  little  air  in  the  park,  which  gave  me 
a  cold,  and  obliged  me  to  physic  and  two  or  three  days'  confinement. 
I  have  several  things  to  prepare  in  order  to  my  journey,  and  shall 
make  all  the  dispatch  I  can.  But  why  I  should  endanger  my  health  by 
too  much  hurry,  or  why  I  should  precipitate  myself,  in  this  convalescent 
state,  into  doubtful  weather  and  cold  lodgings  on  the  road,  I  do  not  see. 
There  is  but  one  reason  that  I  can  comprehend  why  the  great  men  there 
should  be  so  urgent ;  viz.  for  fear  that  I  should  make  an  interest  here  in 
case  of  vacancies ;  which  I  have  already  assured  you  I  do  not  intend  to 
do ;  so  they  may  be  perfectly  easy  on  that  score.    I  am,  dear  Tom,  your 

affectionate  humble  servant, 

G.  BERKELEY. 


London^  March  9,  1733 — 4. 
Dear  Tom, 

1  THINK  what  my  brother  and  you  write  about  the  impropriety  and 


VI.]  Back  to  London.  217 

Qsekssness  of  his  going  now  to  Cloyne  very  reasonable,  and  must  intreat 
jou  to  give  him  the  inclosed  letter  with  your  own  hands.  I  have  not  yet 
seen  Mr.  Roberts,  but  am  willing  to  do  all  the  service  I  can  in  relation 
to  the  affair  you  mention ;  though  I  apprehend  I  am  not  likely  to  do 
much,  for  two  reasons :  firsts  because  I  can  hardly  stir  abroad  without 
catching  cold,  such  is  my  tenderness  after  so  long  confinement ;  secondly^ 
because  I  apprehend  there  will  be  council  heard,  which  makes  it  a 
judicial  case,  in  which  there  is  no  room  for  favour.  I  shall,  however, 
endeavour  to  speak  for  it  in  the  best  manner  I  can  to  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor, Lord  President,  Lord  Chief  Justice,  and  to  the  Master  of  the 
Rolls  ^\  which  four  I  take  to  be  persons  of  the  most  weight,  at  least  that 
I  know,  in  the  Privy  Council.  I  shall  attempt  to  find  them  at  home ; 
though  in  this  busy  time  it  is  very  difficult  to  come  at  them  there :  and 
as  for  going  to  the  Parliament  House  in  my  present  condition,  I  should 
nm  too  great  a  risk  to  think  of  it.  On  Monday  I  shall  have  a  useful 
servant,  whom  I  shall  employ  in  hastening  things  for  my  departure  as 
soon  as  possible ;  for  I  sincerely  long  to  be  with  you.  My  wife's  service 
and  mine.     I  am,  dear  Tom,  your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

G.  BERKELEY. 


Dear  Tom, 
I  RECEIVED  your  letter,  containing  M'Manus's  account  for  the  last 
year.  I  have  not  leisure  to  examine  it  at  present;  but,  at  first  sight,  it 
strikes  me  that  he  charges  20  pounds  where  he  should  have  charged  but 
ten,  /.  e.  to  the  clergymen's  widows.  You'll  inquire  how  this  comes  to 
pass. 

I  am  bond  fide  making  all  the  haste  I  can.  My  library  is  to  be  em- 
barked on  board  the  first  ship  bound  to  Cork,  of  which  I  am  in  daily 
expectation.  I  suppose  it  will  be  no  difficult  matter  to  obtain  an  order 
from  the  commissioners  to  the  custom-house  officers  there  to  let  it  pass 
duty-free,  which,  at  first  word,  was  granted  here  on  my  coming  from 
America.  I  wish  you  would  mention  this,  with  my  respects,  to  Dr.  Cog- 
Ul  *.  After  my  journey,  I  trust  that  I  shall  find  my  health  much  better, 
tliough  at  present  I  am  obliged  to  guard  against  the  east  wind,  with 
which  we  have  been  annoyed  of  late,  and  which  never  fails  to  disorder 
niy  head.  I  am  in  hopes,  however,  by  what  I  hear,  that  I  shall  be  able 
to  reach  Dublin  before  my  Lord-Lieutenant  leaves  it.     I  shall  reckon  it 

^  Lord  Talbot  was  then  Lord  Chancellor ;  "  Dr.  Marmaduke  Coghill,  Judge  of  the  Pre- 

^xA  Wilmington,  Lord  President ;  Sir  Philip  rogative  Court  of  Ireland.  See  Mant's  History 

Vorke,  Chief  Justice  ;  and  Sir  John  Jekyll,  of  the  Cburcb  of  Ireland^  vol.  IL  p.  409. 
faster  of  the  Rolls. 


ai8  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

my  misfortune  if  I  do  noL  I  am  sure  it  shall  not  be  for  want  of  doing 
all  that  lies  in  my  power.  I  am  in  a  htury.  t  am  obliged  to  manage 
my  health,  and  I  have  many  things  to  do« 

1  must  desire  you,  at  your  leisure,  to  look  out  a  lodging  for  us,  to  be 
taken  only  by  the  week ;  for  I  shall  stay  no  longer  in  Dublin  than  needs 
must.  I  shall  want  three  beds  for  men-servants,  one  bed  for  maid- 
servants, two  convenient  bed'-chambers,  a  dining-room  and  parlour, 
utensils  for  the  kitchen  and  table ;  for  though  I  believe  my  wife  and  I 
shall  dine  seldom  at  home,  yet  my  family  must.  I  imagine  the  house  in 
St.  Mary's  parish,  where  I  first  lodged  in  my  solitude,  when  I  was  last  in 
Dublin  ^^  might  do,  if  it  might  be  had*  There  was  only  a  woman  and  a 
maid  in  it ;  and  I  should  be  glad  to  have  as  few  of  the  people  in  the 
house  as  may  be.  Baron  Wainwright  1  should  like  to  be  near;  but  in 
Stephen's  Green  I  should  not  like  to  be.  But,  if  the  aforesaid  conve- 
niences are  not  easily  to  be  had  in  William-street,  you  may  probably  find 
them  on  the  other  side  the  water  without  difficulty ;  and  a  coach  so(m 
carries  me  wherever  I  have  a  mind  to  visit.  1  would  have  the  lodging 
taken  for  the  loth  of  April.  But  say  nothing  of  this  providing  a  lodg- 
ing, nor  of  the  time,  except  to  my  brother,  who  perhaps  may  be  helpful 
in  looking  out  for  it. 

You  may  remember  that,  upon  my  being  made  Dean  of  Deny,  I  paid 
the  curates  for  the  current  year.  The  reason  assigned  why  I  should  do 
this,  will  hold  good  for  my  successor,  viz,  because  I  was  to  have  the 
whole  tithes  of  the  year.  Pray  be  mindful  of  this.  I  am,  dear  Tom, 
your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

G.  BERKELEY. 

London^  March  17,  1733—4. 

You  will  also  remember  to  take  bonds  for  the  money,  to  be  reimbursed 
for  the  Deanery-house. 


Dear  Tom, 

Last  post  I  received  one  from  you,  wherein  you  mention  orders  sent 
to  clear  the  curates  till  the  5th  instant.  I  hope  you  will  recollect,  and 
see  that  I  am  done  by  as  I  myself  did  by  my  predecessor  on  first  coining 
into  the  Deanery.  The  same  reason  that  was  then  assigned  for  my 
paying  the  curates  for  the  year,  though  I  came  in  so  late  as  May,  will 
surely  hold  for  my  successor's  doing  the  same  thing. 

Your  account  of  my  income  I  should  be  glad  to  find  true.     It  widely 

*     Was  this  ill  1738? 


VI.]  Back  to  London.  219 

differs  from  what  Bishop  Sjmge  writes ;  and  both  of  your  accounts  differ 
fiom  my  brother's.  I  would  fain  know  what  I  might  depend  on.  There 
Biay  be  some  uncertainty  in  the  fines  or  tythes ;  but  the  rents  regularly 
and  annually  paid  must  surely  be  known  to  the  bishop.  By  this  post 
I  inform  Bishop  Synge  of  my  design  to  employ  the  person  recommended 
by  him.  As  for  the  distance,  I  shall  know  by  experience  how  far  that  is 
inconvenient.  I  wish  you  could  get  money  from  Skipton  to  make  up 
what  was  wanting  in  your  hands  towards  paying  for  the  patents ;  for  I 
have  largely  drawn  of  late,  and  shall  draw  again  before  I  set  out,  on 
Swift  and  Company;  so  that  there  will  be  little  left  in  their  hands.  I 
shall  have  time  to  receive  another  letter  from  you  before  I  leave  this. 

The  agent  you  mentioned  for  the  bill  against  the  heirs  of  Burton  and 
Harrison  never  came  to  me  to  state  the  case;  so  I  have  litde  to  say :  and 
by  what  I  find,  it  is  to  no  purpose,  for  the  bill  is  not  likely  to  pass.  I 
reasoned  as  well  as  I  could  on  the  little  and  wrong  lights  which  I  had 
with  my  Lord  President ;  but  I  found  by  him,  that  the  Committee  of 
Council  have  weighty  reasons  against  passing  it  I  spoke  also  to  another 
privy  counsellor,  but  I  doubt  to  no  effect  There  will  be  pleadings 
f»i6baUy,  as  well  as  petitions,  on  both  sides,  which  must  determine,  and 
b  the  mean  time  procrastinate,  the  fate  of  this  bill 

There  is  one  Mr.  Cox**  a  clergyman,  son  to  the  late  Dr.  Cox  near 
Drogheda,  who  I  understand  is  under  the  patronage  of  Dr.  Coghill. 
Pray  inform  yourself  of  his  character,  whether  he  be  a  good  man,  one  of 
parts  and  learning,  and  how  he  is  provided  for.  This  you  may  possibly 
do  without  my  being  named.  Perhaps  my  brother  may  know  something 
of  him.  I  would  be  glad  to  be  apprized  of  his  character  on  my  coming 
to  Dublin.  No  one  has  recommended  him  to  me ;  but  his  father  was  an 
ingenious  man,  and  I  saw  two  sensible  women,  his  sisters,  at  Rhode 
Island,  which  inclines  me  to  think  him  a  man  of  merit,  and  such  only  I 
vould  prefer.  I  have  had  certain  persons  recommended  to  me ;  but  I 
^U  consider  their  merits  preferably  to  all  recommendation.  If  you  can 
answer  for  the  ingenuity,  learning,  and  good  qualities  of  the  person  you 
mentioned,  preferably  to  that  of  others  in  competition,  I  should  be  very 
glad  to  ser\'e  him. 

I  must  put  you  in  mind  of  what  I  mentioned  long  since,  viz,  getting 
Dr.  Helsham's  '^  note  for  200  pounds  under  my  hand,  which  I  allowed  to 
jou,  and  you  had  allowed  to  Bishop  Synge,  who  paid  that  sum  out  of 

^  This   was   the    Rev.  Mamiadukc  Cox  September  1736,  and  held  various  livings  in 

f<o.-i    of    Dr.    Cox,    Vicar    of    St.    Peter's,  that  diocese   till   his   death    in    1762.     See 

DnigheJa.  and  Dean  of  Fenis,  from   1694  Brady's  RecorJi^  vol.  II.  p.  147. 
N>  i7l(>  .    who  was  licensed  to  the  curacy  ''   Professor    of    Natural    Philosophy    in 

".    f;i;iiv:jrra,  in  the  dioce>e  ot  Cloyne,  in  Trinity  College,  Dublin. 


220  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cu. 

my  money  long  ago.  You  promised  when  you  were  here  to  see  it  can- 
celled, but  I  suppose  you  might  have  forgot  it  I  think  the  more  of  it  at 
present,  because  I  have,  for  want  of  exactness,  paid  the  sum  of  sixteen 
pounds  twice  over ;  and  a  burnt  child,  you  know,  dreads  the  fire.  My 
wife  makes  you  her  compliments.     I  am,  dear  Tom,  yours  affectionately, 

G.  BERKELEY. 
March  20,  1733—4. 


London^  April  2,  1 734. 
Dear  Tom, 

The  other  day  Mr.  Roberts  called  at  my  lodging ;  where,  not  meeting 
with  myself,  he  left  yoiu-  letter,  a  full  month  after  its  date.  I  wish  I  had 
seen  him,  to  have  known  more  particulars  of  the  case;  though,  on 
second  thoughts,  I  unagine  it  was  not  needful,  for  all  these  points  will  be 
opened  by  lawyers  before  the  Attorney-General  and  before  the  Committee 
of  Council.  I  have,  in  compliance  with  yoiu-  desire,  talked  of  this  affair 
with  the  Lord  President,  Lord  Chancellor,  and  Master  of  the  Rolls;  to 
all  whom  I  recommended  it,  as  far  as  was  decent  to  reconmiend  a  judicial 
affair  wherein  private  property  is  concerned.  I  spoke  also  to  one  or 
two  more  of  the  privy  council;  all  the  members  whereof  I  thought 
equally  judges  of  the  bill.  But  I  find  that  the  committee  for  Irish  bills 
consists  only  of  the  Lords  of  the  Cabinet  and  the  Law  Lords  of  the 
Council.  I  tried  to  find  my  Lord  Hardwicke,  the  Chief  Justice  of  the 
King's  Bench,  and  shall  try  again.  To-morrow  I  propose  to  speak  on 
the  same  subject  to  the  Duke  of  Newcastle.  1  am  in  no  small  hurry, 
have  many  things  to  do,  and  many  things  to  think  of;  but  would  not 
neglect  or  omit  to  throw  in  my  mite  towards  forwarding  an  affair  which 
you  represent  to  be  of  national  concern. 

1  hear  of  a  ship  going  to  Cork,  on  board  of  which  I  design  to  have 
my  things  embarked  next  week.  But  it  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  go 
till  after  Easter ;  and  if  it  was  possible,  would  not  be  decent.  I  propose, 
therefore,  without  fail,  to  set  out  from  hence  either  on  the  Tuesday  or  at 
farthest  on  the  Wednesday  after  Easter-day ;  and  if  the  lodging  in  Dub- 
lin be  secured  against  that  day  se'ennight  it  will  be  time  enough.  We 
would  either  have  a  furnished  house  to  ourselves  by  the  week,  or  else  a 
house  with  as  few  inhabitants  as  may  be.  I  wrote  to  my  brother  Robin 
last  week ;  which  letter  I  directed  to  the  College.  Let  him  know  this 
when  you  see  him.  I  thank  you  for  thinking  of  my  Ubrary's  passing 
easily  through  the  custom-house.  It  is  to  be  sent  to  Messrs.  Harper  and 
Morris,  as  Bishop  Synge  directed ;  who,  I  hope,  hath  apprised  them  of 


VI.]  Back  to  Landcm,  221 

it,  and  leoommended  it  to  their  care.  I  ahall  have  occasion  to  draw  for 
about  a  handred  pounds.  I  hope  youll  urge  Mr.  Skipton  to  be  early  in 
his  pajment  My  wife  and  son  give  their  service  to  you.  I  am,  dear 
Tom,  your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

G,  BERKELEY. 


IfOftdonf  April  16,  1734, 
Dear  Tom, 

Last  Friday  evening  I  saw  Mr.  Roberts  for  the  first  dme.    He  told 

me  he  apprehenckd  opposition  from  Lord  Hardwicke.     Nesi^day  I 

attempted  to  find  my  Lord,  but  could  not    This  day  I  saw  his  Lordship, 

bol  to  no  purpose;  for  he  told  me  the  affair  of  the  Banker's  biU  was 

fimalied  last  night    I  then  said  notlung,  but  only  asked  him  how  it  had 

gone.    He  XxM,  me  they  had  made  Harrison's  estate  liaUe  to  one  moiety 

of  the  demands  on  the  Bank,  and  that  this  was  just :  so  the  Inll  is  passed, 

but  with  alteration ;  yet  such  as  it  is  hdped  will  ndt  defeat  the  intention 

of  it    It  is  very  late ;  and  I  have  time  only  to  add,  that  I  am  your 

affectionate  humble  servant, 

G.  BERKELEY, 

I  thought  I  should  have  set  out  to-morrow ;  but  it  is  impossible  before 
Monday.  You  shall  soon  hear  again  from  me.  My  wife  and  son  make 
their  compliments. 

With  Cloyne  thus  in  view,  he  was  not  withdrawn  from  study. 
Amidst  the  hurry  of  preparations  for  his  journey  to  Ireland,  he 
wrote  the  following  letter  (of  some  philosophical  interest)  to  his 
friend  Johnson  at  Stratford : — 

London,  April  4,  1734. 
Reverend  Sir, 

YouB  ordering  matters  so  that  every  year  one  Scholar  of  the  House 
be  chosen,  is  quite  agreeable  to  my  intentions.  As  to  lending  out  the 
books  of  your  library,  I  think  there  should  be  made  some  public  statute 
by  the  proper  authority,  which  same  authority  may  alter  it,  if  it  prove 
upon  trial  to  be  so  inconvenient  But  this  rests  on  the  trustees  or 
governors  of  the  College.  My  private  opinion  is,  that  you  may,  for  the 
inresent,  lend  out  books  to  any  persons  residing  in  the  Colony,  who  have 
studied  either  in  that  or  any  other  College,  but  always  under  the  caution 
mentioned  in  my  former  letter — upon  forfeiture  whereof  the  book  is  to 
be  returned  within  a  Umited  time. 


222 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


As  to  the  Bishop  of  Cork's  book",  and  the  other  book  you  allude  to, 
the  author  whereof  is  one  Baxter",  they  are  both  very  litde  read  or  con- 
sidered here ;  for  which  reason  I  have  taken  no  public  notice  of  them. 
To  answer  objections  already  answered,  and  repeat  the  same  things, 
is  a  needless  as  well  as  disagreeable  task.  Nor  should  I  have  taken 
notice  of  that  Letter  about  Vision",  had  it  not  been  printed  in  a  news- 
paper which  gave  it  course,  and  spread  it  through  the  kingdom.  Beside, 
the  Theory  of  Vision  I  found  was  somewhat  obscure  to  most  people; 
for  which  reason  I  was  not  displeased  at  an  opportunity  to  explain  it 

Of  late  I  have  been  laid  up  with  the  gout,  which  hath  hindered  me 
hitherto  from  going  to  Ireland  to  be  consecrated  Bishop  of  Clojme,  to 
which  his  Majesty  nominated  me  near  three  months  ago. 

The  hurry  I  am  now  in,  providing  for  my  journey  to  Ireland,  doth 
not  allow  me  time  to  add  any  more  than  my  service  and  best  wishes  to 
yourself,  Mr,  Williams,  Mr.  Elliot,  &c. 

I  am,  Rev.  Sir, 

Your  faithful  humble  servant, 

G.  BERKELEY. 
When  you  write  next,  direct  for  me  at  Cloyne  in  Ireland. 

The  polemic  of  Andrew  Baxter,  in  his  Inynhj^  was  the  earliest 
criticism  of  considerable  size  which  Berkeley's  account  of  the 
nature  of  the  material  world  had  encountered,  although  it  had 
then  been  published  for  more  than  twenty  years.  Its  comparative 
bulk,  however,  is  almost  the  only  circumstance  which  entitles 
Baxter's  work,  on  this  subject,  to  consideration.  Warburton's 
extravagant  doge  upon  the  author  is  qualified  by  Stewart,  but  the 
ingenuity  and  acuteness  which  Stewart  claims  for  some  of  Baxter's 
observations  on  Berkeley  must  also  be  taken  with  reserve.  At  the 
best  he  is  ingenious  and  acute  in  the  construction  of  a  *  man  of 
straw,'  whose  defeat  requires  only  a  small  share  of  those  qualities. 


^  Bishop  Browne's  Divine  Analogy.  As 
already  mentioned,  this  book  was  published 
in  the  beginning  of  1733;  and  the  eighth 
chapter  contains  the  defence  of  his  doctrine 
against  the  objections  of  Berkeley. 

^  Andrew  Baxter,  a  Scotchman,  bom  at 
Old  Aberdeen,  about  1 68 7,  and  author  of 
an  Inquiry  into  the  Nature  of  the  Human 
Soul^  one  section  in  which  is  entitled  *  Dean 
Berkeley's  Scheme  against  the  Existence  of 
Matter   and   a    Material  World,   examined 


and  shewn  inconclusive.'  The  dalt  of  the 
first  edition  of  Baxter's  Inquiry  hts  hitherto 
puzzled  the  historians  of  philosophy.  It  was 
published  anonymously,  by  subscription,  and 
obviously  some  time  before  this  letter  was 
written.  The  second  edition  appeared  in 
1737.     Baxter  died  in  1 750. 

^  The  letter  in  the  Daily  Post  Boy  of 
9th  September,  1732.  See  Berkeley's 
Worhs^  vol.  I.  p.  401. 


VI.] 


Back  to  London, 


223 


He  deals  with  the  object  of  his  attack  as  a  sceptic ;  and  treats  his 
*  scheme'  as  *a  complication  of  all  the  species  of  scepticism  that 
have  ever  yet  been  broached.'  With  this  view  he  plays  upon  the 
unfortunate  word  *  idea/  the  chief  source  of  all  the  misrepresenta- 
tion of  which  Berkeley  has  been  the  subject.  Assuming,  as  he 
does,  that  Berkeley  identifies  the  real  ideas  of  sense  with  the 
illusions  of  imagination,  he  is  of  course  easily  able  to  show  that 
a  sensible  world  of  this  sort  is  inconsistent  with  the  knowledge 
which  r^ulates  our  actions,  and  that  it  convicts  the  Author  of  our 
intellectual  and  practical  faculties  of  deception.  Sensible  things, 
in  the  language  of  Berkeley,  are  composed  of  ideas  or  sensations^  by 
means  of  n^ians  of  the  mind.  In  our  experience  we  find  that  they 
fiuctuate  as  our  sensations  fluctuate;  but,  apart  from  this,  the 
possibility  of  sensible,  or  any  other,  actual  existence,  in  the  case  of 
an  absolute  extinction  of  all  thinking  and  feeling.  Divine  and 
finite,  is  inconceivable.  Baxter  never  looks  at  the  question  from 
this  point  of  view.  He  does  not  see  that  real  ideas  of  sense  may 
be,  although  ideas,  hard  and  extended.  His  most  ingenious  argu- 
ment for  the  existence  of  a  material  world  is  founded  upon  the 
opposite  assumption;  it  fails  accordingly  to  prove  that  matter 
exists  in  any  other  sense  than  that  which  Berkeley  would  allow '^^. 
Baxter's  examination  of  Berkeley  is  interesting  chiefly  as  evi* 
dence  that  the  new  conception  of  the  nature  and  powers  of  the 
material  world  was  beginning  to  engage  Scotch  metaphysical 
intellect,  which  soon  after  was  more  profoundly  moved  by  it. 
Berkeley,  through  Baxter,  Hume,  and  Reid,  first  awakened 
reflection  in  Scotland.  Perhaps  he  is  destined  now  to  revive  it, 
and  to  recal  it  to  what  is  real,  when  it  is  wasting  among  con- 
troversial abstractions ;  or  to  what  is  spiritual,  when  it  is  inclined 
to  an  exclusive  devotion  to  external  observation  and  physical 
science.  Nor  was  Baxter's  book  the  first  symptom  of  an  influence 
which  Berkeley  seems  to  have  exerted  in  Scotland  earlier  and 
more  distinctly  than  in  England.     Stewart  refers  to  what  must 


•  *  If  oor  ideas/  says  Baxter,  *  have  no 
parts,  and  yet  if  we  perceive  parts,  it  is 
pUin  we  perceive  sonutbing  more  than  our 
owa  perceptions.  But  both  these  are  cer- 
tain ;  we  are  conscious  that  we  perceive 
parts,  when  we  look  upon  a  house,  a  tree, 
a  river,  the  dial-plate  of  a  clock  or  watch. 
This  is  a  short  and  easy  way  of  being  cer- 


tain that  somethins;  exists  without  the  mind. 
We  are  certain  of  this  from  consciousness 
itself;  since  we  are  as  conscious  that  we 
perceive  parts  as  that  we  have  perceptions 
at  all.  And  this  argument  proves  at  once, 
and  from  the  same  perceptions,  the  exist- 
ence of  both  the  parts  of  our  composition, 
(Inquiry,  vol.  H.  p.  337-^ 


224 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


have  occurred,  I  think,  before  the  publication  even  of  the  first 
edition  of  Baxter's  hujmrj^  when  he  says'*  that  *the  novelty  of 
his  [Berkeley's]  paradoxes  attracted  very  powerfully  the  attention 
of  a  set  of  young  men  who  were  then  prosecuting  their  studies 
at  Edinbui^h,  and  who  formed  themselves  into  a  Society  for  the 
express  purpose  of  soliciting  from  the  author  an  explanation  of 
some  parts  of  his  theory  which  seemed  to  them  obscurely  and 
equivocally  expressed.  To  this  correspondence  the  amiable  and 
excellent  prelate  appears  to  have  given  every  encouragement;  and 
I  have  been  told  by  the  best  authority,  that  he  was  accustomed  to 
say  that  his  reasonings  had  been  nowhere  better  understood  than 
by  this  club  of  young  Scotsmen^?/ 

This  spring  of  1734  involved  Berkeley  in  a  controversy,  as  in- 
tended by  him  with  the  Free-thinkers,  but  which  became  in  the 
end  a  controversy  with  the  Mathematicians.   His  College  Common- 
place Book  shows  that  his  thoughts  had  been  long  working  in  this 
direction.     He  had  partly  followed  out  the  relation  of  his  New 
Principle  to  mathematical  science  and  to  space,  when  it  was  first 
announced  by  him  in  1710;   afterwards,  more  distinctly,  in  the 
Df  Motu  and  in  Alciphron,    Baxter,  in  his  Infutry^  among  his  other 
objections  to  the  new  conception  of  matter  and  space,  alleged 
that  it  forced  the  author  *  to  suspect  that  even  mathematics  may  not 
be  very  sound  knowledge  at  the  bottom.*    Stock  says  that  Addison 
was  connected   with  this  crusade  against   the   mathematicians, 
for  that   he   had   told   Berkeley  that  Garth,  in  his   last   illness, 
was   impervious  to  the  consideration    of   Christianity,  on  the 
ground  that  Dr.  Halley,  that  great  mathematician  and  dealer  in 
demonstration,  had  convinced  him  that  the  Christian  religion  must 
be  an  imposture,  because  its  doctrines  were  incomprehensible^. 
This  story  as  told  is  not  a  very  likely  one.    Garth  died  in  January 


^  Dissertadon^  Part  II.  sect.  4. 

^  I  have  failed  to  find  any  documentary 
record  of  this  interesting  incident.  The 
Royal  Society  of  Edinburgh  is,  however, 
said  to  have  taken  its  rise  in  the  Society 
referred  to,  which  was  called  the  Rankenian 
Club.  Nor  have  I  been  able  to  determine 
the  exact  date  of  this  club,  and  of  the  corre- 
spondence  which  the  members  are  said  to 
have  held  with  Berkeley.  The  Rev.  Dr. 
Wallace,  author  of  a  Discourse  on  the  Num- 


bers 0/ Mankind,  and  the  Rev.  Dr.  Steven- 
son,  Professor  of  Logic  and  Metaphysics  in 
the  University  of  Edinburgh,  were  among 
the  leading  memben.  They  were  young 
men,  prosecuting  their  studies  in  Edinburgh, 
about  1720 — 24,  when  Bcrkdey  was  in 
London  and  in  Dublin,  after  his  return  from 
Italy.  Perhaps  the  Society  to  which  Mr. 
Stewart  refers  was  making  its  inquiries 
about  that  time. 

^  See  also  Spence*s  AmedoleSy  p.  140. 


J-1 


Back  to  London. 


225 


19,  and  Addison  in  the  following  June.     Berkeley  was  then  tn 

aJy,  and  there  is  no  evidence  that  he  was  in  correspondence  with 

ddisoD.    But  however  this  may  be,  his  thoughts,  during  this  spring 

Lotidon,  were  employed  about  a  form  of  religious  scepticism. 

Id  to  prevail  among  mathematiciaas,  which  was  founded  on  the 

Kistence  of  incomprehensibilities  in  religion.     In  January  1734, 

told  Prior,  that  though  he  could  not  read,  yet  his  thoughts  seemed 

distinct  as  ever  ^  and  that  therefore, '  for  amusement,'  he  passed 

;   early  hours  *  in   thinking   of  certain    mathematical    matters 

rhich  might  possibly  produce  something.'     The  result  was  the 

huiyftj  which  appeared  in  March,  on  the  eve  of  his  departure 

Ireland. 

The  general  aim  of  the  Analytt,  apart  from  the  involved 
latbematical  details,  is  clear  enough.  It  is  an  argumtntum  ad 
wimtm.  Similar  reasoning  is  to  be  found  in  the  last  dialogue 
'  Altiphrom^  wheie  it  is  argued  that  signs  may  have  another 
te  than  that  of  marking  and  suggesting  ideas:  without  sig- 
ifying  ideas,  they  may  form  rules  for  us  to  act  by.  At  the 
lol  of  all  knowledge  concerned  with  ideas,  there  are  practical 
rinciplcs,  he  thinks,  which  cannot  be  analysed  into  ideas,  and 
c  in  that  sense  incomprehensible.  It  is  unreasonable  to  insist 
I  resolving  them  into  ideas.  In  this  respect  religion  and  science 
c  upon  the  same  footing,  foru  is  as  incomprehensible  ^s,  p'ait. 
)th  have  a  practical  meaning ;  but  we  can  have  no  ideas,  in  sense 
in  imagination,  of  what  either  force  or  grace  means.  So  too 
nh  the  mathematicians.  They  object  to  receive  religion,  because 
^nidimentary  principles  cannot  be  presented  and  represented  in 
ions  and  sense  images.  Now,  the  very  same  thing  is  found, 
tries  to  show,  in  mathematics;  especially  in  the  new  and 
lired  doctrine  of  fluxions.  Its  elementary  principles  do  not 
lit  of  being  reduced  into  either  sensations  or  images.  Fluxions 
regulative  and  not  speculative,  as  the  first  principles  of  icligion 
In  this  congenial  field,  Berkeley  shows  his  characteristic 
■btlety.  He  boldly  challenges  the  leaders  of  mathematical 
Balpis  j  proves  that  modern  analysts  are  obliged,  even  in  their 
jmon^trattons,  to  assume  what  they  cannot  resolve  into  finite 
tnsiMes ;  and  concludes  that  reasoners  who  can  accept  mysteries, 
id  even  what  seem  to  be  contradictions,  in  their  own  province, 
c  iocoflsistent  in  rejecting  religion,  merely  because  it  makes 
VOL.  IV,  rj 


226  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

a  similar  demand  upon  them.  All  knowledge,  physical,  mathe- 
matical, and  theological,  is  thus,  with  him,  in  the  last  analysis, 
practical  art  rather  than  speculative  science. 

It  must  be  allowed^  I  think,  that  Berkeley's  natural  ardour,  and 
inclination  to  push  any  conception  which  he  accepts  to  extremes, 
has  led  him  in  the  Analyst  to  a  position  where  he  is  at  any  rate 
very  apt  to  be  misunderstood.  Not  contented  with  pressing  the 
incomprehensibility,  on  a  sensationalist  basis,  of  the  principles  of 
mathematics,  and  especially  of  fluxions,  he  alleges  fallacies  in  the 
new  science  of  Newton.  He  speaks  as  if  fluxions  involved  abso- 
lute contradictions  as  well  as  relative  incomprehensibility;  and 
mathematicians  complain  that  he  is  blind  to  the  Newtonian 
conception  of  continuity,  confounding  it  with  the  monadism  of 
Leibnitz.  But  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  he  is  arguing  with 
persons  who  are  supposed  to  assume  that  all  signs  should  signify 
what  is  capable  of  resolution  into  a  sensationalist  meaning,  and 
who  reject  the  mysteries  of  religion,  on  the  ground  that  they  are  not 
open  to  this  analysis,  but  involve  us  in  contradictions  when  we 
attempt  so  to  analyse  them.  He  probably  regarded  the  Newtonian 
conception  of  continuity  as  open  to  the  same  objection ;  as  in- 
capable of  reduction  into  ideas  of  sense  and  imagination,  and  as 
involving  us  in  contradictions  when  we  treat  it  as  if  it  could. 
If  this  was  his  thought,  his  language  is  sometimes  unguarded. 
Carnot  and  Lagrange,  Euler  and  D^Alembert,  have  since  tried  by 
various  expedients  to  resolve  difficulties  in  the  calculus  similar  to 
some  of  those  which  Berkeley  first  brought  to  light  ^. 

The  mathematicians,  as  we  shall  see,  did  not  long  leave  the 
Analyst  untouched. 

In  the  meantime,  Berkeley  made  his  escape  to  his  new  bishopric 
in  Ireland.  The  following  letter  to  Prior  shows  that  in  the  end  of 
April,  after  repeated  postponements,  he  was  at  last  on  the  road :— 

Dear  Tom,  ^^'  ^^^""''^  ^^"^  3©,  1 734- 

I  WAS  deceived  by  the  assurance  given  me  of  two  ships  going  for 
Cork.  In  the  event,  one  could  not  take  in  my  goods,  and  the  other 
took   freight   for   another  port.     So   that,   after  all  their   delays  and 

••  Kant's  criticism  of  Space  was  partly  geometry,  and  mechanics.  But  Berkeley 
founded  on  the  need  for  showing  the  pos-  had  not  learned  to  look  at  the  questiou 
sibility  of  pure    mathematics  —  arithmetic,       from  this  point  of  view. 


VI.]  yourney  to  Dublin,  227 

pfirvarications,  I  have  been  obliged  to  ship  off  my  things  for  Dublin  on 
board  of  Captain  Leech.  From  this  involuntary  cause,  I  have  been 
detained  here  so  long  beyond  my  intentions,  which  really  were  to  have 
got  to  Dublin  before  the  Parliament,  which  now  I  much  question  whether 
I  shall  be  able  to  do ;  considering  that,  as  I  have  two  young  children^  with 
me,  I  cannot  make  such  dispatch  on  the  road  as  otherwise  I  might. 

I  hope  Skipton's  first  payment  hath  been  made ;  so  that  you  have 
got  the  money  you  returned,  and  that  the  rest  is  lodged  with  Swift  and 
Company  to  answer  my  draughts ;  otherwise  I  have  overdrawn. 

The  lodging  in  Gervais-street*^  which  you  formerly  procured  for  me, 
will,  I  think,  do  very  well.     I  shall  want,  beside  the  conveniences  I  before 
mentioned,  a  private  stable  for  six  coach-horses ;  for  so  many  I  bring 
with  me.     I  shall  hope  for  a  letter  from  you  at  the  post-office  in  Chester, 
giving  an  account  of  the  lodging,  where  and  what  it  is,  &c.     My  wife 
thinks  that  on  breaking  up  of  the  Duke's  kitchen,  one  of  his  under-cooks 
may  be  got ;  and  that  a  man- cook  would  be  a  great  convenience  to  us. 
If  you  can  procure  a  sober  young  man,  who  is  a  good  cook,  and  under- 
stands pickling  and  preserving,  at  a  reasonable  price,  we  shall  be  much 
obliged.     The  landlady  of  the  lodging  must,  in  your  agp'eement,  be 
obliged  to  furnish  linen  and  necessaries  for  the  table,  as  also  to  dress 
our  meat.     This  is  to  be  included  in  the  price  that  we  pay  by  the  week 
for  the  lodgings.     In  your  last,  you  mentioned  black  cattle  and  sheep 
of  Bishop  Synge's*^,  which  I  am  resolved  to  purchase,  and  had  long  ago 
signified  the  same  to  my  brother,  if  I  remember  rightly.      If  I  meet 
with  a  good  ship  at  Chester,  I  propose  going  from  thence.     As  for 
sending  a  ship,  I  doubt  this  will  not  come  time  enough;  and  write 
sooner  I  could  not,  because  of  my  uncertain  situation.     However,  you 
can  tell  what  passage-ships  are  on  this  side  the  water,  and  what  is 
proper   to  be  done.      If  a  ship  be  sent,  you  will  take  care  it  is  the 
best  can  be  got.     I  have  a  coach  and  six  to  embark.     We  propose 
being    at   Chester   on   Saturday   evening.      I   write   this   on   Tuesday 
morning  from  St.  Alban's.     We  are  on  the  point  of  taking  coach.     So 
with  my  little  family's  compliments  and  my  own,  I  remain  your   af- 
fectionate humble  servant, 

GEORGE  BERKELEY. 

I  hope  to  find  a  letter  at  the  post-office  in  Chester,  informing  where 
the  lodging  is  taken. 

A  few  days  after  this  letter  was  written  at  St.  Alban's,  Berkeley 
left  England.     He  did  not  see  it  again  for  nearly  twenty  years 

**  Henry  and  George.  **  In  Dublin.  **  His  predecessor  at  Clovne. 

Q2 


CHAPTER    VII. 

FIRST   YEARS   IN    THE    IRISH    DIOCESE. 

1734— 1739. 

On  Sunday  the  19th  of  May,  1734,  Berkeley  was  consecrated  to 
the  bishopric  of  Cloyne,  in  St.  PauFs  Church,  Dublin,  by  Dr.Theo- 
philus  Bolton,  Archbishop  of  Cashel,  assisted  by  Dr.  Nicholas 
Forster,  Bishop  of  Raphoe,  and  Dr.  Charles  Carr,  Bishop  of  KiUaloe. 
The  old  church  which  witnessed  the  consecration  service  has 
since  been  removed,  to  make  way  for  the  unadorned  modem 
structure  which  now  occupies  its  place  in  North  King  Street. 

Berkeley  was  now  once  more  in  his  native  country,  in  circum- 
stances for  concentrating  his  intellectual  powers  and  benevolent 
sympathies  to  the  advantage  of  his  countrymen.  We  have  not 
followed  him  to  Ireland  since  he  left  it  in  September  1724,  the 
newly-appointed  Dean  of  Derry,  on  his  way  to  London,  impatient 
to  resign  his  deanery  in  the  service  of  America. 

His  stay  in  Dublin,  in  the  ^  lodging  in  Gervais  Street,*  on  the 
north  side  of  the  LifFey,  in  this  month  of  May  1734,  was  probably 
short.  In  his  letter  to  Prior  he  had  desired  the  lodging  to  be 
taken  ^only  by  the  week*  for  I  shall  stay  no  longer  in  Dublin 
than  needs  must^'  and  Stock  says  that  ^immediately  after  his 
consecration  he  repaired  to  his  manse-house  at  Qoyne.*  He 
wished  when  in  Dublin  to  be  'near  Baron  Wainwright,*  and  alluded 
to  his  'brother  Robin,'  perhaps  then  living  in  College^.  Thomas 
Prior  seems  to  have  been  in  Dublin  at  the  time,  and  Bishop 
Forster,  who  had  presented  him  for  holy  orders,  a  quarter  of  a 
century  before,  in  the  old  College  Chapel,  was  one  of  those  who 

'  His  brother  Robert  was  married  in  1 754,  in  Dublin. 


First   Years  in  the  Irish  Diocese. 


329 


now  assisted  at  his  consecration  in  St.  Paul's.  Swift,  whose  letter 
to  Lord  Carteret  records  Berkeley's  departure  from  Dublin  ia  1724, 
was  still  in  his  old  quarters  at  St.  Patrick's. 

On  a  day  in  the  early  summer  of  1734,  Berkeley,  with  his 
wife  and  two  infant  boys,  and  their  considerable  retinue,  might 
have  been  seen  wending  their  way  over  tlie  rough  roads  which 
tiicn  connected  the  county  of  Cork,  and  its  secluded  Diocese 
of  Cloyne,  with  the  Irish  metropolis.  Cloyne  is  more  than  a 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  Dublin.  The  most  direct  road  in 
those  days  was  through  Kilkenny;  and  thus  Berkeley,  a  wanderer 
among  many  men  and  cities,  after  years  of  ingenious  thought  and 
holy  aspiration,  may  have  been  brought  again  for  at  least  a  passing 
hour  within  sight  of  the  '  famous  school'  of  Kilkenny,  the  old 
Castle  of  the  Onnonds,  and  the  banks  of  the  Nore.  We  have 
no  record  of  visits  to  them  since  he  matriculated  at  Dublin,  and 
curiously  none  of  his  remaining  writings  contain  any  reference, 
except  the  most  incidental,  to  his  native  county. 

Before  autumn  set  in,  he  was  settled  in  his  'manse-house'  af 
Cloyne,  'continuing  his  studies,'  Stock  says,  'with  unabated  at- 
tention,' and  applying  a  fresh  and  original  mind  to  the  discharge 
oF  episcopal  duties.  He  was  accustomed  to  rise  early  in  his  new 
home^  his  mornings  were  given  to  study,  in  company  with  Plato 
and  Hooker.  The  Cloyne  life  seems  soon  to  have  become  a  very 
sedentary  one;  partly  perhaps  from  habits  of  study  formed  in 
Rhode  Island,  and  partly  from  indifferent  health.  His  health  was 
broken  before  he  left  London.  He  had  over-studied,  we  may 
suppose;  and  that  too  in  the  anxious  crisis  of  his  life:  he  now 
looked  with  hope  to  a  quiet  life  in  his  Irish  Diocese. 

The  region  in  which  he  came  to  live  was  in  harmony  with 
these  growing  inclinations.  The  eastern  and  northern  parts  of 
the  County  of  Cork  formed  his  Dicxrcse.  It  was  bounded  on  the 
west  by  Oirk  harbour  and  the  river  Lee ;  on  the  east  by  the 
beautiful  Blackwater  and  the  mountains  of  Waterford ;  while 
the  hills  of  Limerick  protected  it  on  the  north,  and  the  ocean 
formed  its  southern  boundary,  approaching  within  three  miles  of 
the  little  town  of  Cloyne.  At  that  time  the  Diocese  contained 
forty-four  churches,  and  about  fourteen  thousand  Protestants,  The 
Roman  Catholic  churches  were  almost  twice  as  many,  with  a 
population  of  more  than  eighty  thousand.     The  Cathedral  and  the 


i 


a30  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ca 

Bishop's  residence  were  in  the  village  of  Qoyne,  in  the  barony 
of  Imokilly. 

This  barony,  as  a  glance  at  the  map  shows,  is  a  compact 
territory,  apart  from  the  great  currents  of  life,  about  twenty  miles 
in  length,  from  Cork  harbour  to  the  mouth  of  the  Blackwater  at 
Youghall,  and  extending  inwards  about  twelve  miles  from  the 
ocean.  Except  on  its  north  side,  Imokilly  is  surrounded  by  the 
ocean  or  its  estuaries.  The  interior  consists  of  two  nearly  parallel 
limestone  valleys,  extending  from  west  to  east,  and  separated  ftt)in 
one  another  by  a  low  range  of  hills,  partly  cultivated,  but  on  which 
few  trees  could  then  be  seen.  Imokilly  was  then,  as  it  still  is,  a 
fertile  region.  Its  two  valleys  were  well  planted,  and  contained  a 
number  of  gentlemen's  seats.  In  the  northern  vale  were  Midleton, 
now  a  considerable  town,  and  Castlemartyr,  the  residence  of  the 
Shannon  family  of  Boyles.  The  southern  valley,  about  six  miles  in 
length,  from  Aghada  and  Cork  harbour  eastward  to  Ballycottin  Bay, 
contained  Rostellan,  the  ancient  seat  of  the  lords  of  Inchiquin, 
jvith  its  charming  demesne,  washed  by  the  waters  of  the  harbour; 
and,  next  to  Rostellan  eastward.  Castle  Mary,  the  abode  of  the 
Longfields.  A  mile  further  on  in  the  valley  stood  the  Cathedral 
and  See-house  of  Cloyne,  with  their  dependent  village,  contain- 
ing perhaps  fifteen  hundred  souls,  and  the  Round  Tower,  still  a 
conspicuous  landmark  in  all  the  surrounding  country.  Eastward 
of  Cloyne  was  Ballymaloe  Castle,  then  the  seat  of  the  Lumleys, 
and  the  lands  of  Shanagary,  which  touch  the  spacious  expanse  of 
Ballycottin  Bay.  In  more  distant  times  the  Fitzgeralds  were 
seneschals  of  Imokilly,  and  reigned  supreme  in  both  its  valleys. 

Cloyne  itself,  which  consists  of  four  streets  meeting  in  the 
centre  of  the  little  town,  is  situated  on  a  gentle  partly  wooded 
elevation,  in  the  centre  of  the  valley,  not  three  miles  east  of  Cork 
hatbour.  It  is  of  great  antiquity.  Tradition  says  that  the  Cathe- 
dral was  founded  by  St.  Colman  in  the  sixth  century,  and  the 
picturesque  Round  Tower  is  probably  nearly  as  old  as  the  Cathe- 
dral. The  bishops  of  Cloyne  originally  lived  in  an  old  castle, 
which  was  at  an  angle  of  the  four  cross  ways  in  the  centre  of 
the  town.  The  last  bishop  who  occupied  the  castle  was  Dr.  St. 
George  Ashe,  who  was  translated  to  Clogher  in  1697.  The  See- 
house  in  which  Berkeley  lived  was  built  a  few  years  after  this,  by 
Bishop  Poolcy. 


vil] 


First  Years  in  the  Irish  Diocese. 


53? 


Cloyne  and  its  surroundings  are  described,  as  they  appeared 
in  1796,  by  Bishop  Bennet,  one  of  Berkeley's  successors,  in  a  letter 
to  Dr.  Parr 2.     < You  ask  me,'  he  says,  'to  explain,  at  length,  the 
particulars  of  my  situation  at  Cloyne.     This  place,  which  is  a 
dirty  Irish  village,  lies  in  a  valley  that  seems  evidently  to  have 
been  formed  in  some  distant  age  by  the  waters  of  Cork  harbour  in 
their  way  to  the  sea  ^  a  branch  of  that  harbour  still  reaching  a  con- 
siderable way  up  the  S.W.  part  of  it,  and  the  bay  of  Ballycottin 
encroaching  on  it  towards  the  N.E.     On  every  other  part  extends 
a  chain  of  hills,  well  cultivated  but  without  trees.     In  the  middle 
of  the  valley,  about  three  miles  from  the  harbour  and  as  much 
from  the  sea,   rises  a  small  insulated  hill,  or  rather  hillock,  on 
which  lies  the  village,  church,  and  house  ^  and  as  this  spot  has 
a  few  tolerable  trees  about  it,  and  is  ornamented  by  a  fine  Round 
Tower,  I  do  not  wonder  that  an  Irishman  coming  from  Dublin, 
through  a  naked  country  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  should 
think  it  a  beautiful  spot,  or  that  an  Englishman  landing  in  Cork 
harbour,  and  comparing  it  with  his  own  rich  and  well-dressed 
vallies,  should  wonder  at  Berkeley's  liking  it.    The  church  is  lai^e, 
but  not  handsome,  with  one  bell  only,  a  very  good  organ,  and  its 
proper  appurtenances  of  vicars  choral,  and   singing  boys.      The 
Episcopal  House  is  at  the  east  end  of  the  village,  a  large  irregular 
building,  having  been  altered  and  improved  by  different  Bishops, 
but  altogether  a  comfortable  and  handsome  residence ;  the  side 
next  the  village  has  a  very  close  screen  of  shrubs  and  trees,  and 
the  three  other  sides   look  to   a   large  garden  and  farm  of  four 
hundred  acres.     I  keep  about  fifty  acres,  enough  to  supply  my 


'  Parr's   Work%^  vol.  VII.  pp.  106 — 109. 

Dr.   Bennet    was    Bishop    of   Cloyiie    from 

1794   to    1820.     He   was    an   Englishman, 

educated  at    Harrow   and   Cambridge.     He 

Was  translated  to  Cloyne  from   the  See  of 

Cork  and  Ross      Parr  was  his  schoolfellow 

at  Harrow,  and  had  a  great  regard  for  this 

accomplished   prelate,  with   whom    he   long 

maintained  a  close  correspondence.     Some  of 

Bennet 's  letters  are  published  in  Parr's  works. 

'Sweet/    writes    Parr,   *is    the   refreshment 

afforded   to  my   soul   by  the  remembrance 

of  such  a  scholar,  such  a  man,  and  such  a 

friend  as    Dr.  William    Bennet,   Bishop   of 

Ooyne.'       Much     interesting     information 

about  the  bishopric  of  Cloyne  is  contained 

in  his   MSS.,  preserved   in   the  registry  of 


Cloyne.  The  bishopric,  at  a  distance  from 
Dublin,  and  an  appendage  to  the  See  of 
Cork  and  Ross,  with  which  it  was  once 
and  again  united,  was  long  the  prey  of  the 
neighbouring  magnates,  especially  the  Fitz- 
geralds.  Some  of  the  demesne  lands  of 
which  Cloyne  was  deprived  at  the  Reforma- 
tion were  recovered  afterwards,  but  when 
Berkeley  was  there  it  was  still  one  of  the 
poorer  bishoprics  of  Ireland,  and  accordingly 
its  bishops  held  Youghal  and  Aghada  in 
eommendam.  The  increase  of  the  ecclesi- 
astical rents  later  in  the  century  made  it 
much  more  valuable,  and  in  Bishop  Bonnet's 
time  the  endowment  of  Cloyne  was  esti- 
mated at  about  £5000  a  year. 


232 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


stable  with  hay,  and  my  dairy  with  milk,  in  my  own  hands ;  and 
these  fifty  acres  compose  three  fields  immediately  contiguous  to  the 
house.  The  garden  is  large,  fixir  acres,  consisting  of  four  quarters^ 
full  of  fruits,  particularly  strawberries  and  raspberries,  which  it  wa» 
soon  found  his  lordship  had  a  predilection  for;  and  separated,  as 
well  as  surrounded  by  shrubberies,  which  contain  some  pretty 
winding  walks,  and  one  large  one  of  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
long,  adorned  for  a  great  part  of  its  length  by  a  hedge  of  myrtles 
six  feet  high,  planted  by  Berkeley's  own  hand,  and  which  had  each 
of  them  a  large  ball  of  tar  put  to  their  roots ^ :  the  evidence  of  this 
fact  is  beyond  contradiction.  At  the  end  of  the  garden  is  what 
we  call  the  Rock  Shrubbery,  a  walk  leading  under  young  trees, 
among  sequestered  crags  of  limestone,  which  hang  many  feet  above 
our  heads,  and  ending  at  the  mouth  of  a  Cave  of  unknown  length 
and  depth—  branching  to  a  great  distance  under  the  earth,  sancti- 
fied by  a  thousand  wild  traditions,  and  which,  I  have  no  doubt, 
sheltered  the  first  wild  inhabitants  of  the  town  in  its  gloomy  wind- 
ing :  <and  gave  rise  at  last  to  the  town  itself,  clumn  being  the  Irish 
name  for  a  cave  or  place  of  retirement.  Caves  were,  you  know, 
till  lately,  places  of  retreat  in  the  Scotch  islands,  to  which  the 
natives  fled  in  the  time  of  invasion;  they  were  the  fortresses 
of  the  first  savages,  and  gave  birth  naturally  to  towns  in  their 
neighbourhood,  as  the  Roman  camps  and  Saxon  castles  did  in 
England  at  a  later  period.  I  have  enclosed  this  place,  which 
is  a  favourite  spot  of  mine,  with  a  low  wall,  enlarged  its  limits, 
and  planted  it  with  shrubs  which  grow  in  this  southern  part  of 
Ireland  (where  frost  is  unknown)  to  a  luxuriance  of  which  the  tall 
myrtles  I  have  mentioned  may  give  you  some  idea. 

*  On  Sunday  the  gates  are  thrown  open,  that  my  Catholic  neigh- 
bours may  indulge  themselves  with  a  walk  to  the  Cave  ^  On  all 
other  days  of  the  week  no  one  ventures  to  intrude  upon  my  retire- 
ment, not  even  the  Prebendary  in  residence : — 


•  In  May  of  this  year  (iR7o\  I  saw  the 
last  remaining  myrtle ;  but  not  *  the  ball 
of  tar/ 

*  The  Cave  of  Cloyne  is  still  a  summer 
resort,  and  can  be  explored  in  dry  weather. 
The  See  House  has  undergone  many  changes 
since  Berkeley  lived  in  it.  The  oldest  part 
is  the  lower  S.  and  W.  front,  looking  into 
the  garden,  which  contains  the  great  stair* 


case.  Bishop  Stopford,  in  1 754,  raised  tbe 
present  front  attics,  and  Berkeley,  who  kept 
much  company,  lived  priDcipally  in  the 
rooms  on  the  ground  floor,  near  the  garden. 
The  walk  to  the  Cave  and  the  Rock  Shrub- 
bery, with  its  ancient  elms,  is  said  to  have 
been  a  favourite  resort  of  Berkeley  for  medi^ 
tation  and  study. 


mj^irsi   Years  in  Oie  Irish  Diocese. 


••  p)vcl  iptc  sacccdot 
Acmtom,  Dominumquc  timel  deprfiiileic  luci." 

St  SO  I  found  the  rule  established  ;  but,  as  1  hate  the  inso- 
jf  wealth,  I  have  been  employing  the  carpenters  some  time 
»  making  that  sort  of  gate  which  cannot  be  left  open  for 

or  shut  against  man. 

Berkeley  little  is   remembered*,  though  his  benevolence, 

no  doubt,  was  very  widely  diffused.  He  made  no  improve- 
o  the  House,  yet  the  part  of  it  he  inhabited  wanted  it  much, 

is  now  thought  only  good  enough  for  the  upper  servants. 
he  had  planted  instead  of  building — if,  indeed,  he  built 
ng,  for  I  cannot  find  any  tradition  uf  it.  Crowe,  one  of  his 
essors,  and  Johnson,  one  of  his  successors,  appear  to  liave 
Kited  most  to  the  comfort  of  the  place;  but  had  there  been 
rable  oak  or  two  nursed  by  the  care  of  this  excellent  man, 
lOW  much  respect  should  1  have  tested  under  its  branches : 

no  spot  of  earth  do  trees  grow  with  more  vigour.  There  is 
pel  in  the  house ;  but  a  private  door  from  the  garden  leads 

Cathedral.  The  bell  is  in  the  Round  Tower,  the  gift  of 
I,  Dean  of  Ross. 

lave  thus,  I  think,  run  through  everything  relative  to  the 
on  of  Cloyne.  The  neighbourhood  is  good ;  the  barony  of 
ly,  which  surrounds  it,  particularly  fertile.  Two  lords  are 
le,  Shannon  and  Longuevillc,  hostile  to  each  other,  but  vying 
iiity  to  me.     The  common  people  getting  rich,  from  the 

spent  by  the  large  detachments  of  the  army  and  navy  occa- 
y  detained  in  Cork  harbour ;  and  giving  any  price  for  fresh 
ons.  Protestants,  comparatively,  none.  We  are  twenty 
h  miles  from  Cork,  which  lies  much  further  from  its  own 
r  than  we  do.  On  the  whole,  if  you  survey  this  place  with 
glish  eye,  you  would  tind  little  to  commend ;  but  with  an 
tie  nothing  to  blame.' 


gether  Qoyne  was,  and  is,  a  place  for  a  recluse,  in  which  a 
>phcr  might  bury  himself  in  his  thoughts,  and  among  his 


ItB  it  icmcmbcied  ru 


I  could  find  only  a  fainl  local  1 
Cloyne.     It   U  (tiinge   Ihat   i 


I  to  Yam  left  no  deep  loci 

Moiling    the   cffbrli  of  my  iiieno       mouia  cortain  no  mci 

4,  ■'bo  now  ocmpin  ibt  Sechouje,       D»mr  attociatcd  with 


234 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


books — shut  ofF  by  its  geographical  position  from  all  the 
centres,  and  reserved  for  meditative  quiet,  with  its  spacious  g: 
and  silent,  green,  undulating  country.  Here,  with  his  incrc 
disinclination  to  travel,  Berkeley  was  almost  as  much  rer 
from  former  friends  as  he  had  been  at  his  ^m  in  Rhode  I 
The  city  of  Cork  took  the  place  of  Newport,  but  Cork  was  t' 
miles  from  Cloyne,  while  Newport  was  only  three  miles 
Whitehall.  His  first  episcopal  neighbour  at  Cork  was  Dr. 
Browne,  his  old  Provost  at  Trinity  College,  and  more  recent 
assailant  of  Alcifkron.  If  they  had  inclination,  they  had 
opportunity  either  for  continued  controversy,  or  for  neighl 
intercourse.  Browne  died  about  twelve  months  after  Berkele 
settled  in  Cloyne  ^  He  was  succeeded  by  Clayton,  Berk 
College  friend  and  correspondent,  who  was  brought  from  Kill; 
Cork,  and  was  his  neighbour  there  till  he  removed  to  Clogl 
1 745.  Though  no  trace  of  such  intercourse  has  been  foun< 
may  suppose  that  Clayton  and  Berkeley  sometimes  exchanged 
or  letters.     The  country  seats  in  the  two  valleys  of  Imokill 


*  Bishop  Browne  died  at  Cork,  on  the 
25th  of  August  1 735.  and  was  buried  in  the 
little  chapel  at  Balltnaspic,  near  Cork,  where 
he  had  built  a  pleasant  retreat  for  study. 
Here  probably  his  Procedure^  and  his  Divine 
Analogy  were  meditated.  This  summer 
(18/O)  I  saw  his  portrait  in  the  Palace  of 
Cork.  Through  the  kindness  of  Richard 
Caulfield,  E.-q.,  LL.D.,  of  Cork,  I  have  before 
me  a  manuscript  catalogue  of  his  library, 
written  by  his  own  hand — a  small  quarto, 
bound  in  ve'lum,  labelled  on  the  back, 
•  Catalogue  of  Books  belonging  to  Peter, 
Lord  Bishop  of  Corke.*  1  he  library  con- 
tained a  coi;siderable  store  of  early  ecclesi- 
astical literature.  He  left  behind  him  in 
manuscript  a  second  volume  of  the  Divine 
A  nalogy^  and  other  writings,  theological  and 
metaphysical.  His  Sermons  were  published 
in     742,  in  two  vols. 

We  have  few  details  of  the  life  of  this 
philosophical  bishr.p,  but  his  mortal  part  was 
seen  again  only  a  few  years  ago,  nearly  a 
hundred  and  thirty  years  after  his  death,  by 
my  friend  Dr.  Caulfield.  A  report,  it  seems, 
was  in  circulation,  that  the  vault  at  Ballin- 
aspic  had  been  desecrated,  and  the  remains 
of  Bishop  Browne  stolen.  To  vindicate  his 
countrymen  from  the  charge.  Dr.  Caulfield 
made  an  examination  on  Jan.  12,  1861. 
After  three  hours'  work  the  labourers 
reached  the   flag  that  closed  the   entrance 


to  the  vault.  The  lead  coffin,  af 
had  never  been  disturbed.  I  give  ti 
words — *On  the  lid,  embedded  in 
caved  timber,  we  found  the  plate, 
required  the  greatest  care  to  touch,  as 
quite  corroded,  and  not  much  thick 
a  sheet  of  paper.  This  we  succe< 
raising.  It  was  originally  square, 
the  centre  was  an  oval  with  a  bead  ] 
within  which  were  the  letters  **  P.  C 
1 735-"  As  the  lid  of  this  coffin  ha( 
been  soldered,  and  had  yielded  a  littk 
weight  of  the  decayed  timber  that  la; 
it  was  found  necessary  to  take  it  of 
all  that  was  mortal  of  Bishop  Brow: 
sented  itself.  There  was  no  appear; 
an  inner  shell.  The  body  was  placet 
lead,  enveloped  in  folds  of  linen,  wh 
not  in  the  slightest  degree  discoloure 
body  was  nearly  entire,  from  the 
up;  so  perfect  were  the  features  tl 
one' who  had  seen  his  portrait  at  the 
of  Cork  would  readily  have  detec 
resemblance.  The  coffin  was  5 
inches  long.'  After  an  investigation 
occupied  more  than  an  hour,  the 
replaced,  and  the  entrance  closed  up 
remains  of  Bishop  Browne  were  afti 
removed  for  re-intemient  beneath  t 
Cathedral  Church  of  St.  Finbarre,  a' 
where  they  now  rest,  for  c^cr  out 
reach  of  human  eye. 


First  Years  in  the  Irish  Diocese. 


235 


firom  incidental  allusions,  soon  supplied  local  visitors  and 
Among  the  clergy,  Isaac  Gervais,  one  of  the  neighbouring 
daries  of  Lismore,  soon  appeared  as  a  correspondent,  and 
came  to  enliven  the  family  circle  at  Cloyne,  The  annual 
Df  Thomas  Prior,  and  his  continued  correspondence,  main- 
that  early  friendship  to  the  end. 

have  few  remains  of  Berkeley's  own  letters  during  his 
ar  in  his  Diocese.  But  here  is  one  written  to  him  by  his 
Seeker,  the  new  Bishop  of  Bristol  7,  which  contains  some 
;ting  allusions,  and  comes  first  in  chronological  order  among 
nains  of  the  Cloyne  correspondence  : — 

y  dear  Lord, 

ruRN  you  my  heartiest  thanks  for  your  very  friendly  congratula- 
and  we  are  all  very  happy  that  you  consider  us  in  the  view  of 
>urs;  for  that  relation  gives  us  an  undoubted  right  to  a  visit 
3U  immediately  upon  our  arrival  at  Bristol  And  I  take  it  Master 
>  obligations  in  point  of  gallantry  to  make  Miss  Talbot"  that 
ment  are  quite  indispensable.  Then  from  Bristol  we  will  beg 
)  wait  upon  you  to  the  palace  of  my  good  lord  of  Gloucester*, 
deed,  to  do  him  justice,  bears  with  tolerable  composure  his  being 
led  from  the  pleasures  of  street  walking ;  but  all  his  honours  avail 
t,  so  long  as  Dicky  Dalton  continues  to  beat  him  at  chess.  But 
5,  my  lord,  before  the  time  comes  of  receiving  a  visit  from  you, 
^  send  an  old  acquaintance  to  pay  you  one.  For  I  take  it  for 
1  Dr.  Rundle"  will  now  be  made  an  Irish  bishop,  and  probably  of 
unless  it  can  be  filled  up  in  such  a  manner  as  to  vacate  some 
*anery  for  him  here,  which  I  believe  he  would  rather  chuse.  His 
is  much  better  than  it  was,  and  this  new  prospect  seems  to  have 


•ley  Paperi.  Seeker  was  nominated 
tiopric  of  Bristol  in  December,  1 734. 

Catherine  Talbot.  This  accom- 
dy,  grand-daughter  of  Bishop  Tal- 

in  Seeker's  family  for  many  years. 
''C  is  the  only  reference  by  name  to 
Icnry  in  any  of  the  correspondence. 
on  was  made  Bishop  of  Gloucester 
and  occupied  that  See  till  his  death 

die  was  appointed  to  the  bishopric 
in  1735-  He  was  early  patronized 
t.  Bishop  o{  Durham,  having  been, 
er  and  Butler,  a  college  friend  of 
ilbot^     Rnndte  was  also  connected 


with  Whiston  and  Clarke  in  their  endea- 
vours to  promote  what  they  called  Primitive 
Christianity,  and  became  subject  to  a  charge 
of  Deism.  The  interposition  of  Gibson, 
Bishop  of  London,  stopped  his  preferment  to 
the  bishopric  of  Gloucester  (which  Benson 
was  with  difficulty  induced  to  accept),  and 
a  paper  war  broke  out.  Rundle  was,  how- 
ever, considered  good  enough  for  an  Irish 
See.  He  is  described  as  a  man  of  warm 
fancy,  and  brilliant  conversation,  apt  to  be 
carried  by  his  wit  into  indiscreet  expressions. 
As  a  bishop,  however,  he  conciliated  general 
good-will  in  his  remote  diocese,  where  he 
died  in  1743. 


236 


Life  and  Letters  of  BerkeUy. 


[CH. 


done  him  great  service.  The  pamphlet  war  about  him  is  not  quite 
extinguished,  but  the  attention  of  the  world  is  almost  entirely  turned 
from  it  to  other  matters.  The  parliament  hath  done  nothing  yet  be- 
sides giving  each  side  an  opportunity  of  shewing  their  numbers,  which 
are  sufficiently  in  favour  of  the  court  The  Queen  is  perfectly  well 
again,  and  Sir  R.  Walpole's  unseasonable  gout  is  going  off.  It  con- 
tinues doubtful  whether  any  petition  will  be  brought  in  against  the  Scotch 
peers.  And  it  does  not  appear  that  we  shall  have  any  Church  work 
this  session.  Dr.  Waterland  was  chosen  prolocutor  last  week,  bat 
declines  it,  upon  which  Dr.  Lisle,  archdeacon  of  Canterbury,  was  chosen 
yesterday.  There  hath  lately  been  a  proposal  made  by  the  Bishop  of 
London"  for  reprinting  by  subscription  the  most  considerable  tracts 
against  popery  that  were  written  in  and  about  King  James  the  Second's 
time,  1  think  in  two  folios.  Whether  such  a  work  would  meet  with  any 
number  of  subscribers  in  Ireland  I  know  not.  Your  friend,  Mr.  Pope, 
is  publishing  small  poems  every  now  and  then,  full  of  much  wit  and  not 
a  little  keenness  *'.  Our  common  friend.  Dr.  Buder,  hath  almost  com- 
pleted a  set  of  speculations  upon  the  credibility  of  religion  from  its 
analogy  to  the  constitution  and  course  of  nature,  which  I  believe  in  due 
time  you  will  read  with  pleasure".  And  now,  my  good  lord,  give  me 
leave  to  ask  what  are  you  doing  ?  As  you  seem  to  write  with  cheerful- 
ness, and  make  no  complaints  of  your  health,  we  are  willing  to  believe 
the  best  of  it  And  your  diocese,  we  hope,  cannot  but  leave  you  some 
intervals  of  leisure  which  you  must  allow  the  friends  of  religion  and 
virtue  to  promise  themselves  publick  advantages  from. 

My  whole  family  desire  to  joyn  their  sincere  assurances  of  the  greatest 
respect  and  friendship  to  you  and  good  Mrs.  Berkeley,  and  their  com- 
pliments to  the  yoimg  gentlemen,  with  those  of. 

My  Lord, 
Your  Lordship's  most  affectionate  brother 
and  most  obedient  servant 


THO.  BRISTOL. 


Feb.  I,  1734—5- 


"  Bishop  Gibson,  who  soon  after  carried  this 
proposal  into  execution,  in  his  weli-knowa 
work,  the  PreserveUive  against  Popery ^  which 
appeared  in  1 738. 

*'  It  was  a  few  years  after  this  that 
Pope's  famous  eulogistic  line  on  Berkeley 
was  published,  in  the  Epilogut  to  the  Satires. 

^   Butler's  Analogy  appeared    in   June 


1 736.  He  was  then  rector  of  Stanhope,  and 
a  prebendary  of  Rochester,  by  the  patronage 
of  Lord  Chancellor  Talbot,  to  whom  the 
Analogy  is  dedicated.  He  was  made  Bishop 
of  Bristol  in  1 738,  and  translated  to  Durham 
in  1750.  The  Analogy  of  Bishop  Botkr 
has  nothing  but  the  name  in  commoo  with 
the  Analogy  of  Bishop  Browne. 


m.] 


First  Years  in  the  Irish  Diocese. 


The  following  letter  from  Benson,  the  new  Bishop  of  Gloucester, 
)  preserved  in  the  Berkeley  Papers,  was  received  at  Cloyne  in 
lay; — 

Si.  James  Sircel,  May  13,  1735. 
My  dear  Lord, 

1  WBiTX  to  you  immediately  upon  the  receipt  of  yours,  as  I  can  give 
D  the  answer  you  wish  to  the  chief  part  of  your  letter,  that  the  person 
U  mention  is  not  to  come  over  with  the  Bishop  of  Derry  [Rundie],  and 
e  is  determined  to  hring  no  chaplain  over  with  him.  There  is  a  cousin- 
1  of  his,  who  has  a  small  living  here,  whom  he  thinks  himself 
iged  to  provide  for,  but  he  does  not  carry  him  over  with  him.  If 
1,  [?],  Bishop  Goodwin's  son,  shall  take  orders,  he  will,  I  believe,  think 
r  obliged  10  take  him  for  his  chaplain  preferably  to  any  other 
\  Ireland;  but  he  tells  me  he  goes  over  determined  to  prefer  tltose 
flocated  In  the  countrey,  with  regard  only  to  their  merit  and  learning. 
I  heartily  wish  you  joy  of  the  birth  of  your  son";  this  is  one  of  the 
est  blessings  Providence  can  send  you,  and  you  are  so  wise  and 
^)py  as  to  understand  the  value  of  it.  I  hope  I  may  by  this  time 
i»e  you  and  Mrs.  Berkeley  Joy  on  her  entire  recovery,  and  may  God 
Uil  you  both  life  and  health  to  give  your  boys  what  is  better  than 
D  the  wealth  which  you  or  all  the  world  can  give  them,  a  religious  and 
ood  education. 
I  beg  you  to  write  a  line  to  the  Baron^^,  and  acquaint  him  with  what 
■cquainied  you  at  the  beginning  of  my  letter.  I  wish  we  had  the 
"iron  in  our  own  Court  of  Exchequer,  more  for  the  clergy's  than  for 
>  own  sake.  The  clergy  have  been  used  extremely  ill  in  that  Court, 
id  their  only  hope  was  in  an  appeal  to  the  House  of  Lords.  But  the 
louse  on  Monday  was  se'nntght  passed  such  a  decree  upon  an  appeal 
I  reladon  to  modus,  that  all  their  hopes  are  gone  there,  and  they 
■ve  great  reason  to  fear  that  the  consequences  of  this  decree  will  be 
y  fatal.  The  clergjTnan  who  brought  the  appeal  was  a  distinguished 
Tory,  and  he  thought,  I  believe,  he  should  find  favour,  and  all  thought 
t  least  he  would  have  common  justice  from  that  quarter.     But  several 


'  A  mad  Km  ttai  bom  iti  April,  iDd 
en  »wj)f  in  Octobei,  1735.  Thii  ippeiii 
n  the  following  ciilrici  which  I  found  in 
trpmj  of  Qoyne ; — 
B^iKd  1735.  liih  dayofApiil.  John 
kdej.  toa  lo  Groree,  Locd  Biihnp  of 
yne.  K.  Wiinwright.  Ciptaio  Miulc, 
Iblhera;  Mn.  Margaret  Long6cld,  gnl- 


John  Bakilc 


of   Gto 


,    Lotd 


Biihop  of  Cloyne,  wu  butied   l6lh  day  of 
Oclobcr  I7,(S' 

"  Piobibl}'  Baron  Wainwti^ht.  The  eta 
rtferted  10  in  wh«l  foilowi  wai  apparenily 
thai  in  which  the  dean  and  chapter  of 
Norwich  appeared,  in  *n  appeal  lo  the 
Houie  of  Lordt  in  regard  to  the  payment  of 
tiihei  by  the  ociupien  of  deraeine  hndi. 
Modus  ii  conipoiiiion  fiir  lilhei  in  kind. 


4 


238  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

lords  of  that  party  appeared  in  a  cause  in  which  I  am  not  sure  if  any 
one  even  of  the  Scotch  lords  would  appear.  The  case  was  exceedingly 
clear ;  but  it  was  given  out  that  the  consequences  of  this  case  wooftd  ^ 
affect  every  man  that  had  an  estate,  and  that  it  was  time  to  put  a  stop 
to  the  growing  wealth  of  the  clergy.  My  Lord  Chancellor  and  the 
Bishops  of  London  and  Salisbury  spoke  on  one  side,  and  Lord  Bathurst 
and  Lord  Onslow  on  the  other.  Lord  Hardwicke,  unfortunately,  was 
obliged  to  attend  a  cause  at  Guildhall  that  day.  When  the  House  came 
to  divide,  fifteen  of  the  lords  present  had  the  modesty  to  retire  to  te 
throne,  and  not  vote  at  all,  but  enough  staid  to  make  a  majori^,  and 
the  bishops  had  only  the  Chancellor  and  the  Duke  of  Bedford  with  them. 
This  affair  makes  a  great  deal  of  noise,  as  it  affects  the  rights  of  aU 
the  parochial  clergy,  and  as  the  injustice  of  the  case  is  very  notorious — 
the  most  notorious,  perhaps,  of  any  that  has  been  decided  for  a  hundred 
years  past  in  the  House  of  Lords.  But  Lord  Bathurst  did  not  seem 
to  think  that  enough,  but  talked  a  great  deal,  tho'  quite  forein  to  the 
purpose,  about  the  clergy  having  raised  their  fines.  I  am  sorry  I  have 
not  a  more  agreeable  subject  to  write  to  you  upon;  but,  as  it  is  at 
present  the  chief  subject  of  discourse,  at  least  among  the  clergy  her^ 
I  have  made  it  the  greatest  part  of  my  letter.  I  have  only  room  to 
add  many  services  from  the  Bishop  of  Bristol  [Seeker]  and  his  family 
to  you  and  yours.  My  sister  has  been  very  ill,  but  is  now  better.— 
I  am,  my  dear  Lord,  your  most  affectionate  faithful  servant  and  brother, 

M.  GLOCESTER. 


The  following  letter's,  from  Gibson,  Bishop  of  London,  reminds 
us  of  the  Analyst^  and  refers  to  the  controversy  of  which  it  was 
the  occasion : — 

Ftdham.July  9,  1735. 
My  Lord, 

I  HAVE  now  before  me  a  letter  from  your  Lordship  of  so  old  a  date 
that  I  know  not  how  to  excuse  the  lateness  of  this  answer,  unless  yott 
will  make  allowance  for  the  hurry  of  our  winter  campaign,  and  my  re- 
moving hither,  and  my  holding  a  Visitation  in  part  of  the  months  of 
May  and  June. 

What  your  Lordship  observes  is  very  true,  and  appears  to  be  so  in 
experience  here,  that  the  men  of  science  (a  conceited  generation)  are  the 
greatest  sticklers  against  revealed  religion,  and  have  been  very  open  in 
their  attacks  upon  it.     And  we  are  much  obliged  to  your  Lordship  fof 

"  Berkeley  Papers. 


l]  First  Years  in  the  Irish  Diocese,  239 

oiting  their  arguments  upon  them,  and  finding  them  work  in  their 
n  quarters,  and  must  depend  upon  you  to  go  on  to  humble  them,  if 
7  do  not  yet  find  themselves  sufficiently  humbled. 
[f  there  be  a  prospect  of  bringing  the  Irish  to  come  to  our  churches, 
case  the  Liturgy  were  read  to  them  in  their  own  language,  the  rest  of 
ir  scheme  will  bear  no  deliberation ;  nor  are  the  abilities  of  the  per- 
is ordained  deacons  for  that  purpose  to  be  regarded,  so  long  as  they 
r  sober  and  virtuous.  My  great  doubt  is,  whether  the  priests,  by  terror  and 
"suasion,  have  not  such  influence  upon  the  lower  people,  for  whose 
Le  chiefly  it  is  intended,  as  to  hinder  them  from  joining  in  a  Protestant 
vice.  And  though  it  might  prove  so  at  last,  I  can  see  no  inconveni- 
ce  in  making  the  experiment.  But  your  Lordship  and  the  Bench  of 
shops  there  must  be  far  better  judges  of  what  is  prudent  and  practic- 
ie  than  we  can  be. 

It  is  taken  for  granted  here,  that  our  Dissenters  will  bring  their  Bill 
•  repealing  the  Test  Act  next  winter,  and  that  whether  the  Court 
courage  them  or  not.  It  is  probable  that  they  rely  upon  promises 
lich  have  been  made  by  candidates  in  the  late  elections,  to  secure  the 
>senting  interest  in  cities  and  boroughs;  but  I  cannot  think  that  all 
ese  promises  will  be  remembered  if  the  Court  should  oppose  it,  nor 
at  the  Court  will  wantonly  divest  itself  at  once  of  the  whole  Church 
terest. 

I  €nd  that  a  new  Lord-Lieutenant  has  been  talked  of  on  that  side  the 
aier,  but  on  this  side  we  hear  nothing  of  it.  And  I  have  reason  to 
elieve,  from  a  circumstance  that  happened  to  come  lately  to  my  know- 
dge,  that  my  Lord-Lieutenant  himself  does  not  think  of  it  at  present. 

I  am,  my  Lord, 

Your  Lordship's  very  faithful  servant  and  brother, 

EDM.  LONDON. 

The  Analyst  had  given  rise  to  a  controversy  which  has  left  its 
lark  in  the  history  of  mathematics,  if  not  of  theology.  Dr.  Jurin, 
ider  the  name  of  'Philalethes  Cantabrigiensis/  was  the  first  to 
ply,  in  his  Geometry  no  friend  to  Infidelity^  to  Berkeley's  analogical 
asoning,  and  argumentum  ad  kominem.  Berkeley  rejoined  in  a 
ffence  of  Free-thinking  in  Mathematics^  which  appeared  early  in 
'35,  and  must  have  employed  some  of  his  studious  hours  during 
s  first  winter  at  Cloyne.  Dr.  Jurin  parried  the  blow  in  the  same 
ar,  in  his  Free  Thinker  no  Just  Thinker,  While  Berkeley  was  thus 
gaged  with  Jurin,  he  had  also  to  meet  an  attack  by  Walton, 


240  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

a  Dublin  mathematician  and  professor,  to  whom  he  replied  in 
an  appendix  to  his  Defence  against  Jurin,  and  afterwards  in  a 
combination  of  reasoning  and  sarcasm,  called  Reasons  for  nei 
replying  to  Mr.  Walton's  Full  Answer^  in  which  he  affects  to  treat 
his  opponent  as  a  disguised  convert.  This  ^Analyst  Controversy/ 
in  which  Berkeley  was  thus  engaged  in  his  first  year  or  two  at 
Cloyne,  was  afterwards  prolonged  by  the  mathematicians  among 
themselves.  It  engaged  Pemberton  and  Benjamin  Robins,  as  well 
as  Jurin.  The  world  owes  one  of  the  best  productions  of  Colin 
M^Laurin,  the  Edinburgh  mathematical  professor,  to  the  Analyst^ 
which  was  the  occasion  besides  of  more  than  twenty  controversial 
tracts  and  pamphlets". 

Berkeley  did  not  forget  his  friends  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Atlantic,  in  his  episcopal  seclusion  in  Ireland.  Here  is  a  letter, 
characteristically  fiiU.  of  queries,  addressed  to  Mr.  Smibert,  at 
Boston »»: — 

Clqyne^  ^i si  of  May y  1735. 
Dear  Mr.  Smibert, 

A  GREAT  variety  and  hurry  of  affairs,  joined  with  ill  state  of  healdi, 
hath  deprived  me  of  the  pleasure  of  corresponding  with  you  for  this 
good  while  past,  and  indeed  I  am  very  sensible  that  the  task  of  answering 
a  letter  is  so  disagreeable  to  you,  that  you  can  well  dispense  with  ^^ 
ceiving  one  of  mere  compliment,  or  which  doth  not  bring  something 
pertinent  and  useful.  You  are  the  proper  judge  whether  the  following 
suggestions  may  be  so  or  no.  I  do  not  pretend  to  give  advice ;  I  on!/ 
offer  a  few  hints  for  your  own  reflection. 

What  if  there  be  in  my  neighbourhood  a  great  trading  city  ?  What  if 
this  city  be  four  times  as  populous  as  Boston,  and  a  hundred  times  as 
rich?  What  if  there  be  more  faces  to  paint,  and  better  pay  for 
painting,  and  yet  nobody  to  paint  them  ?  Whether  it  would  be  dis- 
agreeable to  you  to  receive  gold  instead  of  paper  ?  Whether  it  might  be 
worth  your  while  to  embark  with  your  busts,  your  prints,  your  drawings, 
and  once  more  cross  the  Atlantic  ?  Whether  you  might  not  find  fnll 
business  at  Cork,  and  live  there  much  cheaper  than  in  London?  ! 
Whether  all  these  things  put  together  might  not  be  worth  a  serious 

*^  See  the  annotations  in  my  edition  of  the  Benjamin  Robins,  which  contains  a  *  Di^ 

Analyst^  and  the  Defence,   In  addition  to  the  course  on  the  Methods  of  Fhuuons.* 
list  of  works  mentioned  there,  there  is  a  ^*  Preserved  in  the  Gen/.  Mag, 

volume  of  Matbematical  Tracts  (1761),  by 


VII.]  First  Years  in  the  Irish  Diocese,  241 

thought  ?  I  have  one  more  question  to  ask,  and  that  is,  whether  myrtles 
grow  in  or  near  Boston,  without  pots,  stones,  or  greenhouses,  in  the 
open  air?  I  assure  you  they  do  in  my  garden.  So  much  for  the 
climate.  Think  of  what  hath  been  said,  and  God  direct  you  for  the 
best.     I  am,  good  Mr.  Smibert, 

Your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

G.  CLOYNE. 

A  few  days  later,  what  follows  was  written  to  Johnson,  at 

Stratford : — 

Cloyne.Jime  11,  1735. 
Reverend  Sir, 

It  is  very  agreeable  to  find  that  the  public  examinations  appointed  in 
your  College  have  not  failed  of  their  design  in  encouraging  the  studies 
of  the  youth  educated  therein.  And  I  am  particularly  pleased  that  they 
have  given  to  some  of  your  own  family  an  opportunity  of  distinguishing 
themselves.  One  principal  end  proposed  by  me  was  to  promote  a  better 
understanding  with  the  Dissenters,  and  so  by  degrees  to  lessen  their 
disUke  to  our  communion;  to  which  methought  the  improving  their 
minds  with  liberal  studies  might  greatly  conduce,  as  I  am  very  sensible 
that  your  own  discreet  behaviour  and  manner  of  living  towards  them 
hath  very  much  fon^^arded  the  same  effect.  The  employing  young  men, 
though  not  in  orders,  to  read  a  sermon,  and  some  part  of  the  Liturgy, 
in  those  places  where  they  are  unprovided  with  churches  and  ministers, 
I  always  thought  a  reasonable  and  useful  institution ;  and  though  some 
among  you  were  prejudiced  against  it,  yet  I  doubt  not  their  prejudices 
will  wear  off  when  they  see  the  good  effects  of  it.  I  should  imagine  it 
might  be  some  encouragement  to  well  disposed  students  to  reflect  that 
by  employing  themselves  in  that  manner  they  not  only  do  useful  service 
to  the  Church,  but  also  thereby  recommend  themselves  in  the  properest 
manner  to  Holy  Orders,  and  consequently  to  missions,  whenever  vacan- 
cies shall  make  way  for  them,  or  when  the  Society  shall  be  enabled  to 
found  new  ones. 

My  wife  is  obliged  to  you  for  your  kind  remembrance,  and  sends  her 
compliments  to  you.  Oiu*  little  family  is  increased  to  three  boys,  whereof 
the  two  eldest  past  the  small  pox  last  winter. 

I  wish  you  and  yours  all  happiness,  and  pray  God  to  forward  your 
good  endeavours  for  the  advancement  of  true  religion  and  learning, 
being  very  truly,  Reverend  Sir, 

Your  faithful  brother  and  humble  servant, 

GEORGE  CLOYNE. 

VOL.  IV.  R 


242  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley,  [CH. 

When  any  from  your  College  have  encouragement  to  pass  over  to 
England,  in  expectation  of  Holy  Orders  and  a  mission,  I  would  have 
them,  now  I  am  absent  myself,  to  apply  to  Dr.  Benson,  the  Bishop  of 
Gloucester,  as  they  were  used  to  do  to  me.  He  is  a  most  worthy 
prelate,  and  attends  the  meetings  of  the  Society;  and  in  my  present 
situation  I  cannot  do  better  service,  than  by  recommending  your  can- 
didates to  his  protection. 

The  social  condition  of  Ireland,  especially  of  the  aboriginal 
population,  began  to  engage  Berkeley's  thoughts  as  soon  as  he  was 
settled  in  Cloyne.  The  condition  of  modern  society  had  long 
been  in  his  mind.  The  South  Sea  disasters,  fifteen  years  before, 
moved  him  then  to  address  his  countrymen  on  this  subject.  It  was 
at  the  bottom  of  his  American  enthusiasm,  which  was  sustained  by 
the  desire  to  advance  the  colonial,  and  also  the  native  Indian 
population  of  the  western  hemisphere.  And  now  in  Ireland  he 
had  before  him  a  large  native  Irish  population,  and  a  small  one  of 
English  colonists,  unconnected  with  the  other  by  common  national 
or  church  sympathies,  and  in  which  the  natives,  long  governed  in 
the  interest  of  the  stranger,  had  become  unable  to  govern  them- 
selves. The  industry  and  self-reliance  which  he  had  preached  as 
the  '  means  for  preventing  the  ruin  of  Great  Britain  *  were  a  thou- 
sandfold more  needed  in  Ireland,  where  this  gospel  of  work  was 
unknown,  and  where  the  simplest  maxims  of  social  or  domestic 
economy  were  neither  practised  nor  understood.  It  was  a  state 
of  society  that  was  fitted  to  arouse  the  intellectual  activity  and 
benevolence  of  one  less  inquisitive,  and  less  devoted  to  mankind, 
than  the  new  Bishop  of  Cloyne,  whose  favourite  motto  was  nw 
siln  sed  toti.  The  Protestant  bishops  of  Ireland  were  not  then 
conspicuous  leaders  of  enterprises  for  the  social  good  of  the  whole 
Irish  nation,  but  Berkeley  was  too  independent  to  suflFer  his  aspi- 
rations to  be  confined  by  ecclesiastical  conventionalities. 

The  social  state  of  Ireland  occasioned  what  some  readers  may 
think  the  most  fruitful  of  all  Berkeley's  writings.  Under  the 
influence  of  surrounding  social  phenomena,  his  active  mind  dis- 
charged itself  in  questions.  He  began  to  publish  the  questions 
in  annual  instalments.  The  work  was  entitled  the  ^jtensty  and 
the  First  Part  appeared  in  1 735.  It  was  published  anonymously^ 
and  edited  by  his  old  friend  Dr.  Madden  of  Dublin.     Madden,  in 


VII.] 


First  Years  in  the  Irish  Diocese, 


243 


conjunction  with  Thomas  Prior,  had  a  few  years  before  founded 
the  Dublin  Society  for  promoting   useful  arts  and   sciences   in 
Ireland,  to  which  that  country  now  as   then  owes  so  much  i9. 
The  fluervt  was  meant  to  second  their  endeavours.     The  com- 
bined eflbrt  was  not  lost.     There  was  an  appreciable  amend- 
ment in  the  circumstances  of  Ireland  towards  the  middle  of  the 
last  century,  which  can  be  partly  traced  to  their  influence,  and 
partly  to  the  manly  patriotism  of  Swift  ^®.      But  the   thoughts 
proposed  in  the  ftjterist  are   of  more   than  transitory  interest, 
and  more   large  and  generous  than  those  of  Swift.     After   the 
lapse   of  nearly  a  century  and  a  half,   the  student   of  society 
and  the  statesman  may  here  find  maxims  which  legislation  has 
not  yet  outgrown.     It  is  only  now  that  we  are  fairly  resolving 
*  whether  a  scheme  for  the  welfare  of  the  Irish  nation  should  not 
take  in  the  whole  inhabitants;    and  whether  it  be  not  a  vain 
attempt  to  project  the  flourishing  of  our  Protestant  gentry,  ex- 
clusive of  the  bulk  of  the  natives/     Berkeley  was  probably  the 
first  among  Protestant  ecclesiastics  to  propose  the  admission  of 
Catholics   to  the  College  of  Dublin,  without  being  obliged   to 
attend  chapel,  or  divinity  lectures;  and  he  generously  mentions  the 
Jesuits,  in  their  Colleges  in  Paris,  as  an  example  of  the  greater 
liberality  in  this  respect  of  the  Church  of  Rome^^. 


The  following  letter  from  the  Bishop  of  London,  contained  in 


^  Samuel  Madden,  D.D.,  bom  in  Dublin 
in  1687,2  leader  in  last  century  of  various 
efforts  for  promoting  the  civilization  of  he- 
land,  in  conjunction  with  Berkeley,  Prior, 
and  others,  and  especially  in  connexion  with 
the  Dublin  Society.  He  wrote  various  works 
ill  literature  and  social  economy*  and  some 
of  the  Eisays  by  the  Dublin  Society^  on  flax- 
husbandry,  Irish  linens,  road  making.  &c., 
which  appeared  in  1737  and  the  following 
years :  also  Memoirs  of  the  Twentieth  Cen- 
tury^  or  Original  Letters  of  State  under 
George  VI.     He  died  in  1765. 

'""  Though  I  have  not  found  any  signs  of 
intercourse  between  Berkeley  at  Cloyne,  and 
Swift,  there  are  occasional  indications  of 
remembrance.  In  this  very  year  (1735), 
there  is  a  letter  to  Swift  from  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Donellan,  dated  Cloyne,  October  31,  in 
which  he  mentions  some  preferment,  *  worth 


at  least  £300  per  annum,*  which  he  had  re- 
ceived from  the  Bishop  of  Cloyne  ;  *  unasked, 
and  unexpected,  and  without  any  regard  to 
kindred  or  application,  especially  valuable  as 
coming  from  a  person  you  have  an  esteem 
for.  .  .  .  The  Bishop  of  Cloyne  desires  you 
will  accept  of  his  best  services/  It  is  curious 
that  I  have  not  found  extant  a  single  letter 
either  from  Swift  to  Berkeley,  or  from 
Berkeley  to  Swift. 

^'  •  Berkeley,'  says  Sir  J.  Mackintosh, 
*  though  of  English  extraction,  was  a  true 
Irishman,  and  the  first  eminent  Protestant 
after  the  unhap{  y  contest  at  the  Revolution, 
who  avowed  his  love  for  all  his  countrymen. 
Perhaps  the  Querist  contains  more  hints, 
then  oiiginal,  still  unapplied  [in  1S29]  in 
legislation  and  political  economy,  than  are 
to  be  found  in  any  equal  space.*  Disserta- 
tion^  p.  211. 


R  2 


244  ^if^  ^^  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

the  Berkeley  Papers,  reminds  us  of  the  Analyst^  and  connects  us 
with  Berkeley  in  the  early  part  of  1 736 : — 

Whitehall,  Feb.  7,  1735—6. 
My  Lord, 

I  HOPE  this  will  find  your  Lordship  perfectly  at  ease,  and  at  liberty  to 
attend  your  mathematical  infidels;  for,  though  I  am  not  a  competent 
judge  of  the  subject,  I  am  sure,  from  your  espousing  it  with  so  much 
zeal,  and  against  such  adversaries,  that,  in  pursuing  the  point,  you  are 
doing  good  service  to  religion.  Here  we  have  now  little  trouble  from 
professed  infidels,  but  a  great  deal  from  semi-infidels,  who,  under  the 
title  of  Christians,  are  destroying  the  whole  work  of  our  Redemption  by 
Christ,  and  making  Christianity  little  more  than  a  system  of  morality. 
But  their  design  is  so  bare-faced  and  shocking  that  they  make  little  pro- 
gress among  serious  people. 

It  has  been  a  doubt  for  some  time,  whether  the  Dissenters  would 
trouble  this  Session  with  their  Bill  for  repealing  the  Corporation  and 
Test  Acts.  But  now  it  is  said  with  some  assurance  that  we  are  to  ex- 
pect it,  though  without  any  probability  of  success.  The  Comt  are 
openly  and  avowedly  against  them,  and  so  are  the  Tories  \  and  from 
what  quarter  their  support  is  to  come,  we  do  not  yet  see  or  conceive.  It 
is  given  out  that  they  do  it  to  know  their  friends  from  their  foes,  and  I 
believe  they  reckon  that  the  beginning  it  now,  though  without  success, 
will  make  the  way  for  better  quarter  in  some  future  Session.  On  the 
contrary,  their  bringing  in  the  Bill  is  so  much  against  the  declared  judg- 
ment of  many  members  who  otherwise  wish  them  well,  that  we  think 
they  will  provoke  their  friends,  and  lose  much  ground  by  the  attempt 
Whether  they  or  we  judge  right,  time  must  show". 

I  shall  be  glad  to  see  the  proportion  between  Protestants  and  Papists 
fairly  stated ;  not  only  because  the  accounts  have  hitherto  been  repre- 
sented very  differently,  but  also  because  it  is  a  point  upon  which  great 
stress  is  laid,  upon  some  occasions,  both  with  them  and  us. 

I  am,  my  Lord, 

Your  Lordship's  very  faithful  servant  and  brother, 

EDM.  LONDON. 


"  Contrary  to  the  remonstrances  of  Sir  was  negatived  by  251  to  123.     The  moit»* 

R.  Walpole,  the  Dissenters  insisted  on  trying  ing  after,  the  Bishop  of  London  went  to 

the  repeal  of  the  Corporation  and  Test  Acts.  Walpole  to  thank  him  in  the  name  of  the 

Walpole  opposed  his  old  friends  when  the  bishops  for  his  support  of  the  Established 

repeal  was  proposed  in  the  House,  on  the  Church.     See  Lord  Hervey's  Af«motrs(/fi^ 

1 3th  of  March,  1 736,  and  the  proposition  Rtign  of  Oeorg§  11,  ch.  XXIIL 


VII.]  First  Years  in  the  Irish  Diocese.  245 

In  the  following  month  Berkeley  writes  thus  to  his  friend 
Johnson  about  American  missions  and  Yale  College  : — 

Cloyne^  March  12,  1735—6. 
Reverend  Sir, 

My  remote  distance  from  London  deprives  me  of  those  opportunities 
which  I  might  otherwise  have  of  being  serviceable  to  your  missionaries, 
though  my  inclinations  are  still  the  same.  I  am  very  glad  to  find 
persons  of  Mr.  Arnold's  character  disposed  to  come  over  to  our  Church, 
which,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will  sooner  or  later  prevail  over  all  their 
prejudices.  It  were  indeed  to  be  wished  that  the  Society  was  able  to 
establish  new  missionaries  as  often  as  candidates  offer  themselves ;  but 
I  persuade  myself  that  what  their  funds  will  allow  them  to  do  will  not  be 
wanting  in  favour  of  your  natives.  I .  have  wrote  to  my  friend  the 
Bishop  of  Gloucester,  desiring  an  allowance  from  the  Society  may  be 
obtained  for  Mr.  Arnold  towards  defraying  the  expenses  of  his  voyage  **. 
But  for  a  salary  he  must  wait  till  provision  can  be  made,  or  till  a  vacancy 
occurs. 

It  is  no  small  satisfaction  to  me  to  hear  that  a  spirit  of  emulation  is 
raised  in  our  scholars  at  Newhaven,  and  that  learning  and  good  sense 
are  gaining  ground  among  them.  I  do  not  wonder  that  these  things 
should  create  some  jealousy  in  such  as  are  bigotted  to  a  narrow  way  of 
thinking,  and  that  this  should  produce  uneasiness  to  you  and  other  well- 
wishers  of  our  Church.  But  I  trust  in  God  that  the  prudence  and 
temper  of  yourself  and  your  associates  will,  with  God's  blessing,  get  the 
better  of  misguided  and  unruly  zeal,  which  will  never  be  a  match  for  the 
wisdom  from  above. 

I  have  passed  this  winter  at  Cloyne,  having  been  detained  from  Parlia- 
ment by  my  ill-health,  which  is  now  pretty  well  re-established.  My 
family  are  all  well,  and  concur  with  me  in  best  wishes  to  you  and  yours. 
I  am,  Reverend  Sir, 

Your  most  faithful,  humble  servant  and  brother, 

GEORGE  CLOYNE. 

As  to  your  postscript,  I  can  only  say  that  Ireland  contains  ten  times 
more  objects  of  charity,  whether  we  consider  the  souls  or  bodies  of  men, 
than  are  to  be  met  with  in  New  England.     And  indeed  there  is  so  much 

•  Jonathan  Arnold,  the  successor  of  Samuel  lost    oii    a   second   voyaee    to   England   in 

Johnson  at  Westhavcn  in  the  Congregational  1739.    See  Updike,  p.  163  ;  also  Beardsley's 

ministry,  joined  the  Church  of  England  in  History  of  the  Episcopal  Cbttrcb  in  Cormec- 

1734,     ^^  went  to  England  for  orders  in  ftVi//,  ch.  Vlll. 
1 736,  and,  after  returning  to  America,  was 


246  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH. 

to  be  done  (and  so  few  that  care  to  do  it)  here  at  home,  that  there  can 
be  no  expectations  from  hence. 

In  the  summer  of  this  year  the  following  pleasant  effusion  was 
sent  to  his  old  friend  James,  then  Sir  John  James,  Bart^  of  Bury 
St.  Edmonds,  whose  succession  took  place  in  1736,  and  who  seems 
about  that  time  to  have  returned  from  America : — 

Clqyne^  30M  ofJutUy  1736. 
Dear  Sir, 

In  this  remote  comer  of  Imokilly,  where  I  hear  only  the  rumours  and 
echoes  of  things,  I  know  not  whether  you  are  still  sailing  on  the  ocean, 
or  already  arrived  to  take  possession  of  your  new  dignity  and  estate.  In 
the  former  case  I  wish  you  a  good  voyage ;  in  the  latter  I  welcome  you, 
and  wish  you  joy.  I  have  a  letter  written  and  lying  by  me  these  three 
years,  which  I  knew  not  whither  or  how  to  send  you.  But  now  you  are 
returned  to  our  hemisphere,  I  promise  myself  the  pleasiu-e  of  being  able 
to  correspond  ^ith  you.  You  who  live  to  be  a  spectator  of  odd  scenes 
are  come  into  a  world  much  madder  and  odder  than  that  you  left  We 
also  in  this  island  are  growing  an  odd  and  mad  people.  We  were  odd 
before,  but  I  was  not  sure  of  our  having  the  genius  necessary  to  become 
mad.  But  some  late  steps  of  a  public  nature  give  sufficient  proof 
thereof 

Who  knows  but  when  you  have  settled  your  affairs,  and  looked  about 
and  laughed  enough  in  England,  you  may  have  leisure  and  curiosity 
enough  to  visit  this  side  of  the  water  ?  You  may  land  within  two  miles 
of  my  house,  and  find  that  from  Bristol  to  Cloyne  is  a  shorter  and  much 
easier  journey  than  from  London  to  Bristol.  I  would  go  about  with  you, 
and  show  you  some  scenes  perhaps  as  beautiful  as  you  have  seen  in  all 
your  travels.  My  own  garden  is  not  without  its  curiosity,  having  a 
number  of  myrtles,  several  of  which  are  seven  or  eight  feet  high.  They 
grow  naturally,  with  no  more  trouble  or  art  than  gooseberry  bushes. 
This  is  literally  true.     Of  this  part  of  the  world  it  may  truly  be  said  that 

It  IS 

*Ver  ubi  longuni,  tepidasque  przbet 
Jupiter  brumas.' 

My  wife  most  sincerely  salutes  you.  We  should  with  compliment  be 
overjoyed  to  see  you.  I  am  in  hopes  soon  to  hear  of  your  welfare,  and 
remain,  dear  Sir,  your  most  obedient  and  affectionate  servant, 

G.  CLOYNE. 

It  was  in  this  month  of  June  that  the  Second   Part  of  the 


VII.]  First  Years  in  the  Irish  Diocese.  247 

Sjterist  was  published.  In  1 736  too  he  issued  A  Discourse  addressed 
t0  Mapstrates  and  Men  In  Authority ^  occasioned  by  the  enormous  license 
and  srreiipon  of  the  Times,  This  is  more  in  the  tone  of  his  contro- 
versial writings  against  the  Free-thinkers  in  the  Guardian^  and  in 
Alafhron;  but  with  particular  reference  to  some  appearances  in 
Ireland  by  a  contemptible  association  of  so-called  Blasters^  in 
Dublin,  who  about  this  time  attracted  ecclesiastical  attention. 

The  Cathedral  registry  informs  us  of  the  birth  of  another  son, 
William,  before  the  end  of  1736  2*. 


Early  in  1737,  there  was  a  letter  from  Berkeley  to  Thomas 
Prior,  at  Dublin,  of  whom  we  have  heard  nothing  for  nearly 
three  years,  any  correspondence  between  them  in  these  years 
having  been  lost.  It  presents  an  interesting  picture  of  rural 
industry  at  Cloyne,  and  announces  the  publication  of  the  Third 
Part  of  the  ^erist ; — 

Cloyne,  March  5,  1736 — 7. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  HERE  send  you  what  you  desire.  If  you  approve  of  it,  publish  it  in 
one  or  more  of  our  newspapers ;  if  you  have  any  objection,  let  me  know 
it  by  the  next  post.  I  mean,  as  you  see,  a  brief  abstract ;  which  I  could 
wish  were  spread  through  the  nation,  that  men  may  think  on  the  subject 
against  next  session. 

But  I  would  not  have  this  letter  made  public  sooner  than  a  week  after 
the  publication  of  the  Third  Part  of  my  Querist,  which  I  have  ordered  to 
be  sent  to  you.  I  believe  you  may  receive  it  about  the  time  that  this 
comes  to  your  hands ;  for,  as  I  told  you  in  a  late  letter,  I  have  hastened 
it  as  much  as  possible.  I  have  used  the  same  editor  (Dr.  Madden)  for 
this  as  for  the  foregoing  two  Parts. 

I  must  desire  you  to  purchase  for  me  six  copies  of  the  Third  Part  of  the 
Querist,  which  I  would  have  stitched  in  six  pamphlets ;  so  that  each 
pamphlet  shall  contain  the  First,  Second,  and  Third  Parts  of  the  Querist. 
I  would  have  these  pamphlets  covered  with  marble  paper  pasted  on  white 
paper,  and  the  leaves  cut  and  gilt  on  the  edges;  and  you  will  let  me 
know  when  they  are  done — the  sooner  the  better. 

*♦  In  the  following  entry  : —  December,   1736.      Hugh    Lumley,  James 

•William  Berkeley,  son  to  George,  Lord  Manle,  godfathers, and  Mrs.  Margaret  Long- 
Bishop  of  Cloyne,   wa*   baptized    loth    of       field,  godmother.* 


248  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley,  [ch. 

Our  spinning-school  is  in  a  thriving  way*  The  children  begin  to  find 
a  pleasure  in  being  paid  in  hard  money ;  which  I  understand  they  will 
not  give  to  their  parents,  but  keep  to  buy  clothes  for  themselves.  Indeed 
I  found  it  difficult  and  tedious  to  bring  them  to  this ;  but  I  believe  it  will 
now  do.  I  am  building  a  workhouse  for  sturdy  vagrants,  and  design  to 
raise  about  two  acres  of  hemp  for  employing  them.  Can  you  put  me  in 
a  way  of  getting  hemp-seed ;  or  does  your  Society  distribute  any  ?  It  is 
hoped  your  flax-seed  will  come  in  time. 

Last  post  a  letter  from  an  English  bishop  tells  me,  a  difference  between 
the  king  and  prince  is  got  into  parliament,  and  that  it  seems  to  be  big 
with  mischief,  if  a  speedy  expedient  be  not  found  to  heal  the  breach.  It 
relates  to  the  provision  for  his  Royal  Highness's  family. 

My   three   children  have  been   ill.      The  eldest  and  yoimgest  are 

recovered ;  but  George  is  still  unwell.     We  are  all  yours  truly.     Your 

affectionate  humble  servant, 

GEOR.  CLOYNE. 

TTie  following  is  the  letter  referred  to,  containing  some  thoughts 
about  a  National  Bank,  which  was  sent  to  Prior  for  publication 
in  the  newspapers,  and  appeared  in  the  DuUIn  Journal: — 

Sir, 

You  tell  me  gentlemen  would  not  be  averse  from  a  national  bank, 
provided  they  saw  a  sketch  or  plan  of  such  bank  laid  down  and  proposed 
in  a  distinct  manner.  For  my  own  part,  I  intended  only  to  put  queries, 
and  offer  hints,  not  presuming  to  direct  the  wisdom  of  the  public. 
Besides,  it  seemed  no  hard  matter,  if  any  one  should  think  fit,  to  convert 
queries  into  propositions.  However,  since  you  desire  a  brief  and 
distinct  abstract  of  my  thoughts  on  this  subject,  be  pleased  to  take  it 
as  follows. 

I  conceive  that,  in  order  to  erect  a  national  bank,  and  place  it  on  a 
right  foot,  it  maybe  expedient  to  enact — i.  That  an  additional  tax  often 
shillings  the  hogshead  be  laid  on  wine,  which  may  amoimt  to  about  ten 
thousand  pounds  a-year ;  or  to  raise  a  like  sum  on  foreign  silks,  linens, 
and  laces.  2.  That  the  fund  arising  from  such  tax  be  the  stock  for  a 
national  bank ;  the  deficiencies  whereof  to  be  made  good  by  parliament 
3.  That  bank-notes  be  minted  to  the  value  of  one  hundred  thousand 
pounds  in  round  numbers,  from  one  pound  to  a  hundred.  4.  That 
these  notes  be  issued  either  to  particular  persons  on  ready  money  or  on 
mortgage,  or  to  the  uses  of  the  public  on  its  own  credit.  5.  That 
a  house  and  cashiers,  &c.,  be  appointed  in  Dublin  for  uttering  and 


«0 


First  Yea 


the  Irish  Diocese. 


249 


i*eiing  these  biils,  and  for  managing  this  bank  as  other  banks  are 
6.  That  there  be  twenty-one  inspectors,  one  third  whereof  to 
persons  in  great  office  under  tho  crown,  the  rest  members  of  both 
uses,  ten  whereof  to  go  out  by  lot,  and  as  many  more  to  come  in  once 
two  years.  7.  That  such  inspectors  shall,  in  a  body,  visit  the  bank 
ice  every  year,  and  any  three  of  them  as  often  as  they  please.  8.  That 
bills  or  notes  be  minted  but  by  order  of  parliament  9.  That  it  be 
tJony  to  counterfeit  the  notes  of  this  bank.  10.  That  the  public  be 
Itroe  banker,  or  sole  proprietor  of  this  bank. 

The  reasons  for  a  national  bank,  and  the  answers  to  objections,  aie 
pntained  in  the  Querist ;  wherein  there  are  also  several  other  points 
dating  lo  a  bank  of  this  nature,  which  in  time  may  come  to  be  con- 
fcred.  But  at  present  thus  much  may  suffice  for  a  general  plan  to  try 
e  experiment  and  begin  with ;  which  plan,  after  a  year  or  two  of  trial, 
»y  be  further  improved,  altered,  or  enlai^ed,  as  the  circumstances  of 
E  public  shall  require. 

Every  one  sees  the  scheme  of  a  bank  admits  of  many  variations 
minute  particulars ;  several  of  which  are  hinted  in  the  Qutrisl,  and 
everal  more  may  easily  be  suggested  by  any  one  who  shall  think  on  that 
BbjecL  But  it  should  seem  the  difficulty  doth  not  consist  so  much  in 
Btriving  or  executing  a  national  bank,  as  in  bringing  men  lo  a  right 
use  of  the  public  weal,  and  of  the  tendency  of  such  bank  to  promote 

I  hive  treated  these  points,  and  endeavoured  to  urge  them  home,  both 
nn  reason  and  example,  particularly  in  the  Third  Part  of  the  Querist 
tcly  published;  which,  with  the  two  former,  contain  many  hints, 
I&igned  to  put  men  upon  thinking  what  is  to  be  done  in  this  critical 
idure  of  our  affairs  ;  which  I  l>elieve  may  be  easily  retrieved  and  put 
PD  a  belter  foot  than  ever,  if  those  among  us  who  are  most  concerned 
not  wanting  to  themselves.     I  am.  Sir,  your  humble  servant, 

The  QUERIST. 

The  Third  Part  of  the  ^Ijierht  was  the  last  which  appeari;d. 
This  first  edition  of  the  work,  in  three  Parts,  is  now 
Btrcmcly  rare,  and  was  inaccessible  to  former  editors.  It 
Cmiains  nearly  twice  as  much  matter  as  the  reduced,  and  now 
Rmunon,  edition  (published  in  1750);  in  particular,  a  number  of 

teiies  about  a  National  Bank  for  Ireland — a  subject  much  dis- 
(Bsscd  at  the  time.  I  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  obtain  the 
higioal  edition,  and  I   have  given   some  account  of  it  in  the 


250  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

Appendix  to  the  third  volume  of  the  Warks^  where  the  queries 
omitted  in  all  the  later  editions  are  reprinted  for  the  first  time. 

The  following  letter**  was  written  to  Berkeley  by  Bishop  Benson 
in  April : — 

My  dear  Lord, 

I  HURT  first  mention  what  is  first  in  the  thoughts  and  mouths  of  eveiy 
one — the  death  of  my  Lord  Chancellor'*.  It  is  lamented  so  much  as  a 
public  loss  that  it  seems  too  selfish  to  bewail  it  as  a  private  one.  Never 
loss  was  so  publickly  and  universally  lamented.  All  degrees  and  orders 
and  parties  of  men,  however  opposite  in  other  respects,  all  unite  in  their 
sorrow  upon  this  account,  and  none  express  a  greater  than  the  friends  of 
the  Established  Church.  He  had  given  so  strong  and  late  an  instance  of  his 
affection  to  it,  by  getting  the  Bounty  of  the  late  Queen,  which  had  been 
so  violently  attacked  at  the  end  of  the  last  session,  so  well  settled  by  an 
Order  of  Coimcil,  and  he  was  ready  on  all  occasions  so  powerfully  to 
have  espoused  the  interests  of  the  Church,  and  so  able  to  have  defended 
them,  that  none  more  than  the  clergy  express  their  sorrow  on  tbis 
occasion,  and  among  the  clergy  none  more  than  the  Bp.  of  London. 
The  Bp.  of  Oxford  will,  I  doubt  not,  make  a  very  good  Archbishop. 
Upon  his  promotion  it  was  proposed  to  me  to  remove  to  Oxford,  and 
that,  besides  the  Commendam  I  already  have,  I  should  have  a  Canoniy 
of  Christ  Church,  which  is  vacant,  added  to  it  I  am,  I  thank  God,  so 
much  contented  where  I  am  that  I  have  no  desire  to  move  to  Oxford, 
or  any  other  place.  My  Brother  Seeker*'  has  since  had  an  offer  of  the 
Bpk.  of  Oxford,  but  he  also  has  declined  accepting  it,  and  it  is  not  as  yet 
disposed  of. 

My  Lord  Bathurst^,  whom  you  mention,  has  lately  said  a  great  deal  to 
me,  to  assure  me  of  his  good  intention  towards  the  Church  and  Uni- 
versities, to  both  of  which  he  has  of  late  been  looked  upon  to  be  so  great 
an  enemy.  [I  will]  hope  his  professions  are  real,  though  other  persons 
are  not  inclined  to  believe  them.  My  Lord  Bolinbroke  set  himself  up 
for  an  old  Whig,  a  great  patron  of  republican  principles,  and  a  great 
admirer  of  such  religious  ones  as   Thomas  Chubb  and  some  others 

»  Berkeley  Papers.  *•  Allan,  first  Lord  Bathurst.  the  fiieoi 

^  Lord  Chancellor  Talbot,  son  of  Bishop  of  Pope.     The  poet  as  well  as   the  peer 

Talbot.     He  was  created   Baron   Talbot  in  are  both  associated  with  the  sylvan  bean^ 

173,^,  and  is  the  ancestor  of  the  present  Earl  of    Cirencester.       Lord    Bathurst    was   t 

of  Shrewsbury.  centre   of   the  wits   of   Queeu   Anne  and 

^    Seeker  was    after    all    translated    to  the  first  two  Georges.      He  died  in  I775t 

Oxford  in  1737,  where  he  succeeded  Potter,  aged  91, 
who  was  made  Archbishop  of  Canterbury. 


VII.] 


First  Years  in  the  Irish  Diocese. 


251 


have  been  advancing.  His  Ldp.  has  endeavoured  to  proselyte  as  many 
of  the  Tories  as  he  could,  but  he  has  made  few  disciples  among  them, 
and  most  of  them,  to  their  honour  be  it  spoken,  have  declared  their 
detestation  of  his  new  scheme,  and  have  acted  [like]  honest  and  consistent 
men. 

I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  of  the  increase  of  your  health  and  of  your 
family.  My  best  wishes  attend  them.  My  humble  services  wait  upon 
Mrs.  Berkeley.  My  sister**  is  still  at  Bath,  and  there  is  litde  likelihood 
of  her  being  able  to  come  to  London  this  Spring. 

Mr.  Walpole,  the  second  son  of  Sir  Robert,  is  appointed  Secretary  to 
the  Duke  of  Devonshire. 

My  Lord  Hardwicke**  has  succeeded  my  Lord  Talbot,  and  he  was  the 
on]>'  person  in  the  kingdom  capable  of  filling  that  post. 

We  have  had  an  unhappy  contest  between  the  K.  and  Prince,  about 
settling  an  allowance  for  the  latter".  It  has  been  moved  in  both  Houses 
to  address  his  Majesty  to  settle  ioo,ooolb.  p.  ah.  on  his  son,  which  was 

rejected  by  a  majority  of against  204  in  the  H.  of  Com.,  and  of 

10 K.  in  the  H.  of  Lds. 

I  have  enclosed  with  this  Mr.  Tryon's  account  of  his  having  rec^.  the 
money.     He  and  his  son  are  Joint  Treasurers  of  the  Society. 

I  am,  my  dear  Lord, 

Most  affectionately  and  faithfully  yours, 

M.  GLOCESTER. 
Si.  fames  Si  reel,  Ar.  i,  173?. 


The  Adventures  of  Signor  Gaudentio  di  Lucca^  an  anonymous  work 
of  fiction,  published  in  1737^^  which  gained  some  applause  as 
an  elegant  production  of  imaginative  benevolence,  has  been  some- 
times attributed  to  Berkeley.  It  describes  a  journey  to  a  Utopian 
community,  called  Mezoranians,  supposed  to  be  flourishing  in  the 
centre  of  Africa,  and  to  have  been  accidentally  visited  by  Signor 


•  Mrs.  Seeker. 

*  Philip  Yorke,  Lord  Hardwicke,  suc- 
ceeded Lord  Talbot  as  Lord  Chancellor. 
There  had  been  a  rivalry  between  them. 

"  See  Lord  Hervey's  Memoirs,  chap. 
XXVIII— XXX.  The  Prince's  claim,  and 
the  relative  debates  in  Parliament,  was  the 
great  subject  about  this  time.  The  debate 
in  the  Commons  was  on  the  22nd  of 
February,  when  the  Prince  was  defeated  by 
234  to  ?04 ;   and  on  the  following  day,  by 


103  to  40  in  the  House  of  Lords,  where 
Lord  Carteret  moved  the  grant.  The  dis- 
putes between  the  Prince  of  Wales  (after 
his  marriage)  and  the  king  were  the  scandal 
of  that,  the  preceding,  and  the  following 
year. 

^  Other  editions  of  Gaudentio  di  Lucca 
followed — at  Dublin  in  1 738,  at  London 
1748,  and  at  Edinburgh  1 761.  The  book 
was  translated  into  French  in  1746. 


252 


Life  aftd  Letters  of  Berkeley, 


[CH. 


Gaudentio,  an  Italian  gentleman,  in  the  course  of  his  travels. 
Like  the  Republic  of  Plato,  the  Utopia  of  More,  or  the  New 
Atlantis  of  Bacon,  this  romance  was  meant  to  paint  an  ideal 
society,  founded  on  purer  principles  than  those  of  European 
civilization.  Berkeley's  Bermuda  enterprise,  his  former  connec- 
tion with  Italy,  his  fondness  for  Plato,  some  vague  resemblance 
in  the  ingenuity  of  the  fancy,  and  the  amiable  spirit  of  GauJenth 
ds  iMcca^  may  have  given  rise  to  the  supposition  that  he  was  the 
author.  There  is  no  sufficient  ground  in  the  qualities  of  the  work, 
in  the  absence  of  any  definite  testimony,  to  justify  this  conjecture. 
It  was  at  first  favoured  by  the  bic^raphcr  of  Berkeley  in  the 
Biographia  Britannha^  and  again  by  others ;  but  Stock  afterwards 
withdrew  the  statement,  on  the  assertion  of  George  Berkeley,  'that 
his  father  did  not  write  and  never  read  through  the  Adventures  of 
Signor  Gaudentio  di  Lucca ^V  Berkeley's  employments  about  this 
time  were  hardly  consistent  with  a  diversion  of  his  energy  to 
writing  a  romance,  and  we  may  fairly  infer  that  he,  at  any  rate, 
was  not  the  author.  The  work  is  now  assigned,  on  what  seems  to 
be  sufficient  evidence,  to  Simon  Berington,  a  Catholic  priest^. 


The  only  break  in  Berkeley's  secluded  life  at  Cloyne,  during 
the  many  years  of  his  residence  there,  was  in  the  autumn  of 
1737,  when  he  went  to  Dublin  with  his  family  for  some 
months,  to  attend  to  his  parliamentary  duties  in  the  Irish 
House  of  Lords.  That  more  than  three  years  should  have  elapsed 
after  his  consecration  before  he  took  his  seat  in  Parliament  was  a 
want  of  conformity  to  the  custom  of  his  order  which  adds  to  the 


»  Biog.  Brit.  vol.  III.—*  Addenda ;  *  and 
Gent.  Mag.  vol.  L.  p.  125.  See  also  Dun- 
lop's  History  0/ Fiction ;  Southcy's  Common- 
place Book;  and  Pinkerton's  Correspon- 
dence. 

**  *  This  well-known  fiction,'  says  Sir  G. 
Cornewall  Lewis,  *  which  has  long  been 
erroneously  ascribed  to  Bishop  Berkeley,  was 
in  fact  the  work  of  Simon  Berington,  a 
Catholic  priest.  The  statement  in  the 
Gent.  Mag.  which  assigns  to  him  the 
authorship  of  this  work,  is  confirmed  by 
the  traditions  of  his  family  in  Herefordshire, 
as  I  have  ascertained  from  authentic  infor- 
mation.' Methods  of  Observation  and  Reason- 
ing in  Politics^  vol.  II.  p.  373,  note.  The 
Rev.  Simon  Berington   was  the  son  of  a 


Herefordshire  gentleman.  The  authorship 
of  Gaudentio  di  Lucca  was  first  attributed  to 
this  excellent  person  by  a  correspondent  of 
the  Geni.  Mag.  (vol.  LV.  p.  747),  where  he 
is  described  as  a  Catholic  {viest  who  had 
chambers  in  Gray's  Inn,  (where  he  was 
keeper  of  a  library  for  the  use  of  the  Romidi 
Clergy),  and  author  of  a  Dissmrtation  om  At 
Mosaical  account  of  the  Creadom^  Deluge,  Ac^ 
(London,  1750), — the  learning  and  other 
qualities  of  which  resemble  Getudendo  £ 
Lucca.  Berington  lived  at  one  time  in 
Staffordshire.  The  authorship  of  GaudnUh 
has  also,  but  without  evidence,  been  at- 
tributed to  a  Dr.  Swale  of  Huntingdon.  See 
Notes  and  Queries  for  1850. 


■J 


Firs  I  Years  in  the  Irish  Diocese. 


253 


ridcnce  of  his  recluse  tendencies.  The  Journals  of  the  House  give 
following  information; — Die  MerCKrli^  2  Nov.  1737. — 'The  Rev; 
leoTgc  Berkeley,  Doctor  of  Divinity,  being  by  Letters  Patents, 
■ted  5  die  Martii,  7"  Georgii  Secundi  Regis,  created  Bishop 
F  Cloyce,  was  this  day  in  his  robes  introduced  between  the 
l^ht  Rev.  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Kildare''*,  and  the  Right  Rev. 
:  Lord  Bishop  of  Corke  and  Ross  ^^  also  in  their  robes.  The 
intlcman  Usher  of  the  Black  Rod,  and  Ulster  King  at  Arms,  in 
;  coat  of  arms,  canying  the  said  Letters  Patents,  preceding  his 
ordship,  presented  the  same  to  the  Lord  Ciiancellor,  on  his  knee, 
the  Woolsack,  who  gave  them  to  the  Clerk  of  the  Parliaments, 
hich  were  read  at  the  table.  His  Writ  of  Summons  was  also  read. 
"hen  his  Lordship  came  to  the  table,  and  took  the  oaths,  and 
;  and  subscribed  the  Declaration,  pursuant  to  the  Statutes,  and 
afterwards  conducted  and  took  his  place  on  the  Lords  and 
ishops  bench,'  And  with  this  ceremonial  we  have  the  philosophic 
ishop  in  a  new  scene. 

In  the  following  winter  he  took  his  part  in  parliamentary 
isiness.  That  Session  was  opened  on  the  ^tli  of  October  1737, 
1  a  speech  by  the  Duke  of  Devonshire,  then  the  Lord  Lieu- 
mant.  Parliament  was  prorogued  on  the  jjrd  of  March.  From 
itc  Journals,  Berkeley  seems  to  have  been  present  on  the  following 
^s: — 1737'  November  9,  10,  14,  18,  21,  29;  December  10,  23, 
738.  January  3,  5i  February  14,  18,  20,  31,  ai,  33,  24,  25,  27, 
"J;   March  3,  6,  10,  11,  iS,  ao,  22,  23. 

The  DifeoKTse  to  Magistrates,  as  I  have  said,  was  partly  occa- 
ioned  by  an  impious  society  in  Dublin,  which,  according  to 
bock,  '  it  put  a  stop  to,'  He  adds  that  Berkeley  '  expressed  his 
EDtiments  on  the  same  subject  in  the  House  of  Lords,  the  only 
he  ever  spoke  there.  The  speech  was  received  with  much 
Bplause.'  1  have  not  been  able  to  find  any  other  account  of  this 
ccb.  From  the  Journals  of  the  House,  however,  it  appears  that, 
the  17th  of  February  1738,  it  was  ordered  'that  the  Lords' 
kmunittees  on  religion  do  meet  immediately  after  the  rising  of 
House,  and  examine  as  to  the  causes  of  the  present  noto- 
s  immorality  and  profaneness,  and  that  the  Judges  do  assist.' 
nring  February  the  subject  received  continued  attention.   On  the 

"  ChatiM  Cobb,  D.D.  »  Robert  asyton,  D,D. 


254 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley, 


[CH. 


icth  of  March  the  Earl  of  Granard  rqported  from  ^  the  Committees 
for  Religion.'  As  this  Report  contains  some  curious  information 
about  the  Blasters,  it  is  presented  in  the  appended  note  ^» 


"  *  The  Lords'  Committees  for  Refigion, 
appointed  to  examine  into  the  causes  of  the 
present  notorioos  immorality  and  profane- 
ness,  beg  leave,  before  thej  report  to  your 
Lordships  what  progress  they  have  made  in 
that  inqoiry,  to  obsenre,  that  an  uncomooon 
scene  of  impiety  and  blasphemy  appeared 
before  them,  wherein  several  persoos  must 
have  been  concerned ;  but  by  reason  of  their 
meeting  late  in  the  Session,  they  have  not 
been  able  to  prepare  a  full  and  satis£ictory 
account  thereof  for  your  Lordships:  how- 
ever, they  think  it  their  duty  to  lay  it  be- 
fore your  Lordships,  as  it  hath  appeared  to 
them,  that  before  the  conclusion  of  this 
Session,  some  measures  may  be  taken  to  put 
a  stop  to  the  spreading  of  these  impieties, 
which  it  is  to  be  hoped,  in  the  next  Session 
of  Parliament,  your  Lordships  will  be  able, 
by  proper  laws  and  remedies,  wholly  to 
extinguish  and  prevent  for  the  future. 

*  The  Lords'  Committees  have  sufficient 
grounds  to  believe  (though  no  direct  proof 
thereof  upon  oath  hath  yet  been  laid  before 
them)  that  several  loose  and  disorderly  per- 
sons have  of  late  erected  themselves  into  a 
Society  or  Club  under  the  name  of  Blasters, 
and  have  used  means  to  draw  into  this 
impious  Society  several  of  the  youth  of  this 
kingdom. 

*  what  the  practices  of  this  Society  are 
(besides  the  general  fame  spread  through  the 
whole  kingdom)  appears  by  the  examina- 
tions of  several  persons,  taken  upon  oath 
before  the  Lord  Mayor  of  this  City,  in  rela- 
tion to  Peter  Lens,  painter,  lately  come  into 
this  kingdom,  who  professes  himself  a 
Blaster. 

*  By  these  examinations,  it  appears,  that 
the  said  Peter  Lens  professes  himself  to  be 
a  votary  of  the  devil ;  that  he  hath  oflfered 
up  prayers  to  him,  and  publickly  draiik  to 
the  devil's  heahh;  that  he  hath  at  several 
times  uttered  the  most  daring  and  execrable 
blasphemies  against  the  sacred  name  and 
Majesty  of  God;  and  often  made  use  of 
such  obscene,  blasphemous,  and  before  un- 
heard-of expressions,  as  the  Lords'  com- 
mittees think  they  cannot  even  mention  to 
your  Lordships:  and  therefore  choose  to 
pass  over  in  siloice. 

*  As  impieties  and  blasphemies  of  this  kind 
were  utterly  unknown  to  our  ancestors,  the 
Lords'  committees  observe,  that  the  laws 
framed  by  them  must  be  unequal  to  such 


enormous  crimes,  and  that  a  new  law  is 
wanting,  more  effectually  to  restrain  and 
punish  blasphemies  of  this  kind. 

*  The  Lords'  committees  cannot  take  upon 
them  to  assign  the  immediate  causes  of  such 
monstrous  impieties ;  but  they  beg  leave  to 
observe,  that  of  hte  years  there  hath  ap- 
peared a  greater  neglect  of  religion  and  aO 
things  sacred,  than  was  ever  before  known 
in  this  kingdom ;  a  great  neglect  of  Divine 
Worship,  both  publick  and  private,  and  of 
the  due  observance  of  the  Lord's  Day:  a 
want  of  reverence  to  the  laws  and  magis- 
trates; and  of  a  due  subordinatioQ  in  the 
several  ranks  and  degrees  in  the  community; 
and  an  abuse  of  Uboty,  under  our  mild  and 
happy  constitution :  a  great  nc^;iect  in  educi- 
tioo;  and  a  want  of  care  in  parents  and 
masters  of  families,  in  training  up  their  chil- 
dren in  reverence  and  awe;  uid  kcepiag 
their  servants  in  discipline  and  good  order; 
and  instructing  them  in  moral  and  rdi- 
gious  duties;  a  great  increase  of  idleness, 
luxury  and  excessive  gaming:  and  an  ex- 
cess in  the  use  of  spirituous  and  intoxicating 
liquors. 

'  Wherefore  the  Lords'  Conunittees  are 
come  to  the  following  resolutions,  viz. : — 
Resolved,  that  it  is  the  opinion  of  this 
Conmiittee,  that  his  Majesty's  Attor- 
ney-General be  ordered  to  prosecute 
Peter  Lens  with  the  utmost  severity 
of  the  law. 
Resolved,  that  it  is  the  o^nnion  of  this 
committee,  that  an  humble  address 
be  presented  to  his  Grace  the  Lord 
Lieutenant,  that  he  would  be  pleased 
to  order  that  proclamation  may  issue 
with  a  reward  for  apprehending  the 
said  Peter  Lens ;  and  that  he  would 
be  further  pleased  to  give  it  in  direc- 
tion to  the  Judges  in  their  several 
circuits,  to  charge  the  magistrates, 
to  put  the  laws  in  execution  against 
immorality  and  profane  cursing  and 
swearing  and  gaming,  and  to  inquire 
into  atheistical  and  blasphemous 
Clubs. 
Resolved,  that  it  is  the  opinion  of  this 
Committee,  that  the  Bishops  be  de- 
sired, at  their  visitations,  to  give  it 
in  particular  charge  to  their  clergy 
to  exhort  their  people  to  a  more 
frequent  and  constant  attendance  on 
divine  service. 


VII J  First  Years  in  the  Irish  Diocese.  255 

The  following  letter*®,  addressed  to  him  at  this  time  by  his  wife's 
uncle.  Bishop  Forster,  refers  to  this  subject : — 


My  Lord, 

I  HATB  y«  favour  of  y'  letter  that  came  by  last  post,  and  hope  y'  family, 
which,  yu  say,  have  been  twice  laid  down  with  colds,  is  up  again,  and 
that  y«  season  of  y«  year  that  is  coming  in  wil  bring  y™  relief  from  yr 
colic. 

I  am  persuaded  y°  have  made  a  true  representation  of  y®  present  state 
of  y«  Church,  and,  God  knows,  it  is  a  melancholy  one.  When  y«  laity 
form  themselves  into  a  party  in  opposition  to  y®  clergy,  how  can  we 
expect  any  good  success  from  our  labours  among  them  ?  Men  wil  never 
receive  instruction  from  those  to  whom  they  bear  ill  wil,  and  their  con- 
tempt of  our  labours  wil,  I  fear,  bring  an  increase  of  vice  and  infidelity 
among  us.  However,  it  is  our  duty  to  be  circumspect,  and  give  no 
offence ;  to  be  diligent  in  y«  discharge  of  our  office,  and  moderate  in  y« 
demands  of  our  temporaltys ;  that  y^  laity  may  see  that  y«  cause  of  reli- 
gion more  at  heart  than  any  worldly  gain.  These  are  y®  likelyest  means, 
with  God's  blessing,  to  allay  those  heats  that  are  raised  against  us ;  but, 
if  violent  measures  be  taken  on  both  sides,  what  hope  can  we  have  of  a 
reconciliation?  The  clergy  in  this  part  of  y«  country  have  had  their 
share  in  y^  common  calamity  ;  but  I  find  that  angry  spirit  that  has  been 
awfully  stirred  up  in  y«  minds  of  y«  people  against  them  begins  to  abate, 
and  they  receive  their  dues  with  less  opposition  than  they  did  some  time 
ago;  and  I  have  good  hopes  that  time  and  patience  on  our  side  will 
bring  y^  people  to  reason. 

Your  account  of  y^*  new  society  of  Blasters  in  Dublin  is  shocking :  the 
zeal  of  all  good  men  for  y®  cause  of  God  should  rise  in  proportion  to  y« 
impiety  of  these  horrid  blasphemers. 

I  am  glad  to  hear  both  y«  King  and  his  ministry  are  determined  to 
give  no  countenance  to  innouators  in  Church  affairs ;  there  is  reason  to 
believe  they  have  ill  designs  against  y^  State  as  wel  as  y^  Church.  I 
pray  God  give  peace  in  our  time  on  earth,  and  bring  us  safe  to  heaven, 


Resolved,  that  it  is  the  opinion  of  this  to   the   laws    and    religion    of  their 

Committee,  that  the  visitors  of  the  country.' 

university,  and  of  all  schools,  do  ex-  The  grandson  of  the  Lord  Granard  who 

hort    and    require   the   fellows    and  conducted    this    investigation     married,    in 

masters,    carefully    to    instruct    the  1766,    Georgiana,    daughter    of    Augustus, 

youth  committed  to  their  care  in  the  fourth  Earl  of  Berkeley.     She  is  referred  to 

principles  of  religion  and  morality  ;  in  the  Preface  to  Monck  Berkeley^  p.  cxxiv. 
and    to    inculcate    a    due    reverence  ^  Berkeley  Papers. 


256  Life  and  Letters  0/  Berkeley.  [ch. 

where  there  is  no  contention.    We  are  happily  freed  from  those  two 

pernicious  bills  y^  mention,  and  may  be  content  now  with  a  blank 

session. 

I  am,  my  Lord, 

Y'  Lordship's  most  faithfiill  brother  and 

humble  servant, 

N.  RAPHO. 
Rapho^  Feb,  20,  1731 — 8. 

If  y'  lordship's  health  and  leisure  wil  allow,  I  should  desire  y^  would, 
on  y«  return  of  y«  bills,  favour  me  with  an  account  of  such  of  them  as 
relate  to  y«  Church. 

There  is  no  proof  that  the  Blasters  deserved  the  notoriety  which 
these  proceedings  conferred  upon  them.  The  parliamentary 
Journals  give  us  no  further  information  about  their  history,  and 
it  does  not  seem  that  this  l^islative  notice  of  their  existence 
conferred  any  permanent  influence  upon  them. 

The  following  letter  ^^  from  his  friend  the  Bishop  of  Gloucester 
was  addressed  to  Berkeley  when  he  was  at  Dublin : — 

Berry  Street ,  Westminster ^ 

F^h,  7,  1737—8. 
My  dear  Lord, 

I  WAS  much  pleased  to  hear  that  you  were  come  to  Dublin  and  at- 
tended the  Session  of  Parliament  there.  For,  though  I  love  to  be  in  my 
Diocese  as  much  as  I  can,  and  wish  that  some  of  my  brethren  loved  it 
more,  yet  it  is  so  necessary  for  supporting  the  interest  of  the  Church 
that  the  Bishops  should  be  present  in  Parliament,  that  it  is  our  duty,  I 
think,  to  appear  there ;  and  if  we  take  care  to  shew  that  it  is  not  our 
private  interest  which  brings  us  thither  and  rules  us  there,  we  may  be 
able  to  do  some  good,  or  at  least  to  hinder  a  good  deal  of  mischief.  A 
great  deal  is  designed  against  us,  and  every  opportunity  is  watched  and 
waited  for  to  put  it  in  execution.  The  Queen's  death**  is  a  severe  blow, 
and  those  who  would  not  be  persuaded,  while  she  lived,  how  zealous  a 
friend  she  was  to  our  Church  and  Constitution,  have,  smce  her  death, 
been  fully  convinced  of  it.  Both  the  King  and  the  Minister  seem  firmly 
resolved  to  suffer  no  innovation,  and  to  keep  things  as  they  are  both 

*  Berkeley  Papers.  chap.   XXXVIII — XL.,   for    a    renurkabk 

^  The  *  philosophic  Queen '  Caroline  died       account  of  her  last  illness  and  death. 
Nov.  20, 1 737.   See  Lord  Hervey's  Memoirs^ 


VII.]  First  Years  in  the  Irish  Diocese,  257 

here  and  in  Ireland.  And  the  great  man  you  mention  is,  I  believe,  in 
the  same  way  of  thinking ;  but  there  are  so  few  others  in  it,  that,  not- 
withstanding this  support,  we  stand,  I  fear,  upon  very  dangerous  ground. 
Not  that  I  think  the  danger  so  near  as  you  apprehend.  There  are  some 
few  wise  man  who  would  be  for  saving  the  Church  upon  political  con- 
siderations, and  some  few  good  men  who  would  be  for  preserving  it  upon 
religious  ones ;  and  those  who  are  for  destroying  it,  though  many,  yet 
are  so  divided,  that  though  they  agree  to  pull  down,  yet  they  differ  so 
much  about  what  they  would  have  erected  in  the  place,  that  this  may  be 
a  means  of  keeping  the  old  building  up.  Though  the  memory  of  Crom- 
well is  not  publicly  drank  to  on  this  as  it  is  on  your  side  the  water,  yet 
we  have  those  who  are  silly  enough  to  think  that  he  was  a  Republican, 
and  venerate  him  upon  that  account. 

I  made  your  compliments  to  my  Lord  Chancellor  *^  who  desired  his  in 
return  to  you,  and  spoke  with  great  esteem  and  regard  of  you. 

I  have  sent  your  letter  to  Mr.  Wolfe's  lodgings.  He  is  not  in  town, 
but  they  promised  it  should  be  sent  safely  to  him**. 

We  are  likely  to  do  little  in  Parliament,  and  you  will  think,  I  believe, 
the  less  the  better.  The  less  harm  it  certainly  is  so,  but  when  so  many 
good  things  are  so  much  wanted  to  be  done,  it  is  very  shameful  to  see 
us  sit  so  idle.  It  looks  as  if  a  power  of  doing  harm  only,  and  none  of 
doing  good,  was  lodged  with  us. 

The  King  is  still  very  disconsolate ;  he  sees  no  company,  nor  is  enter- 
tained with  any  diversions.  He  is  very  thoughtful  and  serious,  and  if 
serious  people  were  about  him,  a  great  deal  of  good  both  to  himself  and 
the  nation  might  come  from  the  situation  and  turn  of  mind  he  is  at 
present  in.  There  has  been  talk  of  a  reconciliation  between  the  Prince 
and  him,  but  I  could  never  find  there  was  any  sufficient  ground  for  it. 

Severe  colds  have  been  general  here  as  well  as  in  Ireland.  I  have 
escaped  pretty  well,  but  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  and  your  family  have 
had  so  large  a  share  of  this  epidemical  evil.  My  humble  service  and 
lK»st  wishes  of  health  wait  upon  Mrs.  Berkeley,  and  always  attend  all  your 
family.  I  am  very  exact  in  my  diet  and  regular  in  my  hours,  and  both  agree 
very  well  with  me.  I  am  better,  I  thank  God,  both  in  my  health  and  spirits 
now  than  I  have  been  for  many  years.  The  Bishop  of  Derry's  [Rundle] 
recovery  is  very  surprising ;  but  I  wish  that  what  some  reckon  the  cure 
does  not  prove  the  ruin  of  his  health,  and  that  is,  his  return  to  flesh  and 
wine.     While  the  Queen  lived  I  had  fair  hopes  of  seeing  the  Baron  here. 

*'  Lord  Hardwicke.  twelve  years  old.     His  parents  were  living 

*^  This  confirms  the  Wolfe  connection.  at  Greenwich,  where  the  two  sons  were  at 
The  '  hero  of  Quebec '  was  then  only  about       school. 

VOL.  IV.  S 


258  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

The  prospect  is  since  much  clouded,  but  it  perhaps  may  brighten  up 
again.  It  would  be  great  joy  to  myself  and  to  the  Bishop  of  Oxford's 
[Seeker]  family  to  hear  that  you  and  yours  design  to  visit  England. 
James*'  had  deserted  it  before  I  got  to  London,  and  he  does  not  talk 
of  returning  before  I  shall  have  left  it  again. 

Our  Lords  have  made  a  less  important  order  in  their  House  than  that 
you  mention  to  be  made  in  yours,  and  that  is,  that  I  should  print  a  ser- 
mon preached  before  them  January  30th  **.  The  Bishop  of  Carlisle  not 
coming  up,  it  came  to  my  turn  sooner  than  it  should.  This  order,  how- 
ever, ought  to  have  weight  enough  to  excuse  me  to  my  friends  for  trou- 
bling them  with  one  of  the  sermons,  above  all,  as  the  order  does  not 
extend  so  far  as  to  oblige  them  to  read  it. 

I  am,  my  dear  Lord, 

Ever  most  affectionately  and  faithfully  yours, 

M.  GLOCESTER. 

From  the  following  note  to  Johnson  at  Stratford,  which  again 

« 

speaks  of  infirm  health,  the  Berkeley  family  seem  to  have  returned 
to  Cloyne  early  in  the  summer  of  1738  : — 

Dublin^  May  11,  1738. 
Reverend  Sir, 

I  SHOULD  not  have  been  thus  long  in  arrear  in  regard  to  my  corre- 
spondence with  you,  had  I  not  been  prevented  by  ill  health,  multiplicity 
of  business,  and  want  of  opportunities.  When  I  last  heard  from  you  I 
was  at  Cloyne,  and  am  returning  thither  now  with  my  family,  who,  I 
bless  God,  are  all  well  except  myself,  who  for  a  long  time  past  have 
been  troubled  with  an  habitual  colic,  nor  am  I  yet  freed  from  it.  My 
wife  sends  you  her  compliments,  and  we  both  join  in  good  wishes  to 
you  and  your  family.  The  accounts  you  sent  me  from  the  College  at 
Newhaven  were  very  agreeable,  and  I  shall  always  be  glad  to  hear  from 
you  on  that  or  any  other  subject.  I  am  sensible  you  have  to  do  with 
people  of  no  very  easy  or  tractable  spirit.  But  your  o\mi  prudence  will 
direct  you  when  and  how  far  to  yield,  and  what  is  the  proper  way  to 
manage  with  them.  I  pray  God  preserve  you  and  prosper  your  en- 
deavours.    And  I  am,  Reverend  Sir, 

Your  very  faithful  servant  and  brother, 

G.  CLO\T^E. 

^  Sir  John  James  (?).  almost  the  only  published  production  of  his, 

*•  This  was  a   Sermon   preached   before  but   Archdeacon   Rose   has    an  interesting 

the  House  of  Lords,  by  Bishop  Benson,  on  volume  of  Benson's  Sermons  and  Charges 

Ps.  LXXXIII.   5—8,  published  in   1738—  in  MS. 


VII,] 


First  Years  in  the  Irish  Diocese, 


259 


TTie  following  letter  ^*  to  Colonel  Thomas  Evans  of  Milltown, 
near  Charleville,  whose  daughter  was.  married  to  Dean  Bruce's^c 
son,  illustrates  Berkeley's  amiable  disposition.  It  is  the  only 
scrap  I  can  find  belonging  to  the  months  which  immediately  fol- 
lowed his  return  from  Dublin : — 

Cloyne,  7^«r  7,  1738. 
To  Thomas  EvanSy  Esq.^  at  MilNowne. 

Sir, 

Two  nights  ago  I  received  the  favour  of  your  letter,  but  deferred 
answering  it  till  I  should  have  seen  Dean  Bruce  at  my  visitation ;  from 
which  the  Dean  happened  to  be  detained  by  the  illness  of  his  son.  I 
am  very  sorry  there  hath  arisen  any  difference  between  you  ;  but,  as  you 
have  been  silent  as  to  particulars,  and  as  the  Dean  hath  mentioned 
nothing  of  it  to  me,  either  by  word  of  mouth,  letter,  or  message,  I  can 
do  no  more  than  in  general  terms  recommend  peace  and  good  neigh- 
bourhood, for  the  providing  of  which  my  best  endeavours  should  not  be 
wanting.  In  the  meantime  give  me  leave  to  assure  you  that  I  have  not 
the  least  reason  to  entertain  ill  thoughts  of  your  conduct;  and  that 
where  no  blame  is  imputed  all  apology  is  useless.  Upon  the  whole, 
since  the  Dean  hath  not  stirred  in  this  matter,  I  hope  it  may  die  and  be 
forgotten.     My  wife  presents  her  compliments,  and 

I  remain,  Sir,  y^  very  obedient  humble  servt., 

G.  CLOYNE. 

The  Cloyne  register  records  the  baptism  of  Berkeley's  daughter 
Julia,  in  October  1738^7. 

In  November  wc  are  introduced  to  the  Rev.  Isaac  Gervais  *% 


•'  Sec  Brady's  Records,  vol.  III.  p.  1 18. 

**  Reverend  Jonathan  Bruce,  Vicar  of 
Charleville,  Co.  Cork,  descended  from  Sir 
Andrew  Bruce  of  Earlshall  in  Scotland. 
From  1724  to  his  death  at  Charleville, 
in  1758,  he  was  Dean  of  Kilfenora.  See 
Brady's  Records,  vol.  II.  pp.  37 — 40,  for  an 
account  of  the  family. 

•^  The  entry  is  as  follows  : — 

*  Julia  Berkeley,  daughter  of  George, 
Lord  Bishop  of  Cloyne,  was  baptised  Oc- 
tober the  15th  1738.  Godfathers,  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Robert  Berkeley,  and  Hugh  Lumley, 
Esq. ;  Mrs.  Longtield  and  Mrs.  Maule,  god- 
mothers.' The  Maules  in  these  entries 
were  connected  with  Bishop  Maule,  one  of 
Berkeley's     predecessors,     who     held     the 


bishopric  of  Cloyne  1726 — 31,  when  he  was 
translated  to  Dromore.  He  had  two  sons, 
Captain  Thomas  Maule,  and  James  Maule, 
who  married  a  daughter  of  Lord  Barrymore 
in  1727.  'Mrs.  Longfield'  was  of  Castle 
Mary ;  •  Hugh  Lumley  '  was  of  Ballymaloe ; 
and  •  the  Rev.  Robert  Berkeley  *  was  the 
Bishop's  brother. 

**  Isaac  Gervais  was  a  native  of  Mont- 
pelier,  born  about  1680,  and  carried  out  of 
France,  on  the  revocation  of  the  Eklict  of 
Nantes,  in  i<  85 — a  member  of  one  of  the 
Huguenot  families  who  then  fled  from 
France,  and  settled  in  Youghall,  Waterford, 
and  other  parts  of  Ireland.  He  was  Vicar 
Choral  of  Lismore  in  1 708,  Prebendary  of 
Lismore  in  1 7  23,  and  became  Dean  of  Tuam 


S  2, 


26o  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 

then  a  prebendary  in  the  cathedral  church  of  Lismore,  a  vivacious 
and  every  way  pleasant  clerical  neighbour,  of  French  extractioa, 
who  often  visited  Berkeley,  and  with  whom  he  had  much  friendly 
correspondence  during  the  remaining  years  of  his  life.  The  fol- 
lowing note  is  the  earliest  dated  among  the  fragments  which  have 
been  preserved  of  that  long  continued  correspondence : — 

Cloyne,  Naoemhtr  25,  1738. 
Reverend  Sir, 

My  wife  sends  her  compliments  to  Mrs.  Gervais  and  yourself  for  the 
receipt  &c.,  and  we  both  concur  in  thanks  for  your  venison.  The  rain 
hath  so  defaced  your  letter  that  I  cannot  read  some  parts  of  it.  But  I 
can  make  a  shift  to  see  there  is  a  compliment  of  so  bright  a  strain,  that 
if  I  knew  how  to  read  it  I  am  sure  I  should  not  know  how  to  answer  it 
If  there  was  anything  agreeable  in  your  entertainment  at  my  house,  it 
was  chiefly  owing  to  yourself,  and  so  requires  my  acknowledgment, 
which  you  have  very  sincere.  You  give  so  much  pleasure  to  others, 
and  are  so  easily  pleased  yourself,  that  I  shall  live  in  hopes  of  your 
making  my  house  your  inn  whenever  you  visit  these  parts,  which  will  be 
very  agreeable  to  me. 

The  year  which  thus  introduces  Mr.  Gervais  upon  the  scene 
is  the  last  in  which  we  have  any  account  of  Berkeley's  wandering 
beyond  the  limits  of  his  diocese,  until  he  left  it  to  return  no  more. 
We  shall  see  him  in  the  interval  devoting  himself  more  than  ever 
to  his  neighbourhood  and  to  his  study. 

in  1743.     He  died  in  Feb.  1756,  and  was  to  his  father.     Among  the  descendants  of 

buried  at  Lismore.     His  son,  Henry  Ger-  Dean   Genrais   is  the  present  distingaisbed 

vais,  was  Archdeacon  of  Cashel  1773 — 90,  Archbishop  of  Dnblin. 
and  to  him  we  owe  the  letters  from  Berkeley 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

PHILANTHROPY,  THEOLOGY,  AND  PHILOSOPHY  AT  CLOYNE. 

TAR-WATER. 

1739— 1752. 

Berkeley  is  almost  invisible  in  1739  and  1740.  His  corre- 
spondence in  these  two  years  is  nearly  a  blank.  Any  letters  he 
may  have  sent  to  Prior,  or  Johnson,  or  Gervais,  have  been  lost. 
Nor  have  we  even  the  reflected  light  of  any  addressed  to  him  by 
Seeker,  or  Benson,  or  Gibson.  I  have  not  found  a  trace  of  corre- 
spondence with  Pope  after  Berkeley's  return  from  Italy,  though, 
according  to  Stock,  the  beauty  of  Cloyne  was  painted  for  the  bard 
of  Twickenham  by  the  same  hand  which  in  former  days  had 
depicted  Inarime. 

The  period  in  his  life  on  which  we  are  now  entering,  as 
well  as  retrospective  references  in  letters  which  follow,  are  illus- 
trated in  a  curious  local  history  of  Cork,  published  while  Berkeley 
was  alive.  'On  the  5th  of  November  1739/  we  are  told  ^,  'war 
was  proclaimed  in  Cork  against  the  king  of  Spain  2,  The  river 
Lee  was  frozen  up  towards  the  end  of  this  year  by  the  hardest 
frost  in  the  memory  of  man,  after  which  a  great  scarcity  followed, 
so  that  wheat  sold  in  the  following  summer  for  forty-two  shillings 
the  kilderkin;  but  in  two  years  after  it  fell  to  six  shillings  and 
sixpence  the  kilderkin.  Great  numbers  of  the  poor  perished  during 
the  summers  of  1741  and  174:2.'  It  was  a  time  of  famine  in  the 
county,  followed  by  widespread  disease.  Epidemic  fever  and 
bloody  flux  devastated  the  whole  neighbourhood  for  years.     The 

*  The  AncUnt  and  Present  State  of  the  '  The  commencement  of  the  Maritime 

Comity  0/ Cork.    By  Charles  Smith.    Dublin.       War. 


262  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

shadow  of  death  again  fell  on  the  episcopal  palace  of  Qoyne  in 
one  of  these  troubled  years,  as  appears  from  the  following  entry  in 
the  cathedral  register: — ^ Sarah  Berkeley,  daughter  of  the  Ri^t 
Rev.  George,  Lord  Bishop  of  Qoyne,  was  buried  the  26th  day  of 
March  1 740  *.' 

Berkeley's  benevolent  simplicity,  as  well  as  some  of  his  notions 
in  political  economy,  are  shown  in  stories  which  belong  to  this 
time.  At  the  commencement  of  the  hard  frost,  in  the  long- 
remembered  winter  of  1739—40,  he  came  down  to  breakfast  one 
Sunday  without  a  grain  of  powder  in  his  Cloyne-made  wig— 
for  his  own  dress  as  well  as  that  of  his  servants,  was  made  at 
the  village  of  Cloyne,  His  wife  expressed  her  surprise  at  his 
unwonted  appearance.  *We  shall  have  a  famine  forthwith,'  he 
replied,  *and  I  have  desired  that  none  of  the  servants  put  any 
powder  in  their  wigsj  neither  will  I.'  The  chaplain,  the 
secretary,  and  the  whole  party  took  the  hint.  During  all  that 
winter,  every  Monday  morning,  he  gave  twenty  pounds  to  be 
distributed  among  the  poor  of  Cloyne,  besides  what  they  received 
out  of  his  kitchen*.  He  practised  the  maxims  of  his  fiumtt^ 
in  encouraging  local  handicraft,  and  he  indulged  his  benevolent 
heart  in  giving  with  both  hands. 

These  dark  years  of  famine  and  disease  had  .in  the  end  conse- 
quences of  lasting  interest  in  Berkeley's  history,  and  even  in  the 
history  of  philosophic  thought.  The  suffering  in  his  neighbourhood 
turned  his  attention  to  medicine.  His  American  experience  sug- 
gested the  medicinal  properties  of  tar-water.  Reading  and 
meditating  about  tar-water,  in  his  library  and  in  his  walks  about 
Cloyne,  deepened  the  philosophical  speculations  of  his  early 
years.  The  Cork  frost  of  1739 — 40  was  thus  the  occasion  of  a 
chain  of  thought  the  most  curious  of  any  even  in  the  mental 
experience  of  Berkeley.  His  thought  too  was  now  more  than 
formerly  sustained  by  much  and  cui-ious  reading :  conclusions 
about  the  principles  of  things,  reached  in  the  early  part  of  his 
life,  were,  at  this  advanced  stage,  made  broader  and  more  pro- 
found, perhaps  darker  too,  by  solitary  pondering  of  Greek  and 
Eastern  lore. 


'  I  find  no  record  of  the  birth  of  this         .  *  Pre/act  to  Moneh  BerieUy,  p.  ccccxiii. 
daughter.    She  seems  to  have  been  the  Ust-       Part  of  the  story  is  given  by  Stock, 
bom  child,  who  died  soon  after  her  birth. 


viil]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.         263 

But  we  shall  first  follow  his  familiar  life  and  correspondence  in 
the  years  immediately  after  the  famine.  Here  are  some  letters  to 
Prior,  which  show  what  he  was  then  busy  about : — 


Cloyne y  Feb,  8,  1740 — i. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  SHOULD  have  complied  with  your  desire  sooner,  but  I  was  not  so  well 
able  to  say  what  method  I  thought  best  to  take  in  this  epidemical  bloody 
flux,  that  distemper  not  having  been  rife  in  this  town  till  very  lately, 
though  it  had  made  a  great  progress  in  othe/  parts  of  this  county.  But 
this  week  I  have  cured  several  by  the  following  course ;  than  which 
nothing  is  easier  or  cheaper.  I  give  to  grown  people  a  heaped  spoonful 
of  rosin  powdered  fine,  in  a  little  broth ;  and  this  is  repeated  at  the 
distance  of  six  or  eight  hours  till  the  blood  is  staunched.  To  children  I 
give  a  bare  spoonful  not  heaped.  A  farthing's  worth  of  rosin  (if  I  may 
judge  by  my  own  short  experience)  will  never  fail  to  stop  the  flux  of 
blood,  with  a  regular  diet.  Broth  seems  to  me  the  most  proper  diet ; 
and  that  simple,  of  mutton  or  fowl,  without  salt,  spice,  or  onions.  I 
doubt  not  clysters  of  the  same  broth  and  rosin  would  likewise  have  a 
good  effect ;  but  this  I  have  not  yet  tried.  In  the  first  place,  make  some 
private  experiments  of  this  as  you  have  opportunity.  If,  after  the  bloody 
flux  is  over,  a  looseness  remain,  chalk  in  boiled  milk  and  water  may 
remove  it.  I  have  also  known  tow,  dipped  in  brandy  and  thrust  into  the 
fundament,  to  be  effectual  in  strengthening  that  sphincter.  What  you 
call  a  felon  is  called  in  the  books  a  phlegmon,  and  often  is  the  crisis  fol- 
lowing a  fever  or  other  distemper.  I  believe  tar-water  might  be  useful 
to  prevent  (or  to  perfect  the  cure  of)  such  an  evil ;  there  being,  so  far  as 
I  can  judge,  no  more  powerful  corrector  of  putrid  humours.  But  I  am 
making  a  farther  enquiry',  and  more  experiments,  concerning  the  virtues 
of  that  medicine,  which  I  may  impart  to  you  before  it  be  long. 

I  find  what  you  say  of  the  two  plain  looms  to  be  true,  you  having 
allowed  me  for  them.  I  desire  you  not  to  forget  the  wheels ;  and  to 
procure  what  seed  you  can,  if  not  what  I  wrote  for.  My  wife  and  all 
here  join  in  wishing  you  all  happiness,  and  hoping  to  see  you  here  in 
May.     Adieu,  dear  Tom,  your  most  faithful  humble  servant, 

G.  CLOYNE. 

I  thank  you  for  thinking  of  the  French  book.     Let  mc  hear  30ur 
success  in  using  the  rosin. 


264  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

Clqyniy  Feb.  15,  1740— i. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  MUST  desire  you  to  take  up  what  money  1  have  in  Henr/s  and 
Alderman  Dawson's  hands,  and  lodge  it  in  the  bank  of  Swift  and  Com- 
pany. You  have  their  notes,  so  I  need  not  draw.  Upon  paying  this 
money  into  Swift,  you  will  send  me  his  account  balanced. 

Our  weather  is  grown  fine  and  warm;  but  the  bloody  flux  has 
increased  in  this  neighbourhood,  and  raged  most  violently  in  other  parts 
of  this  and  the  adjacent  counties.  By  new  trials,  I  am  confirmed  in  the 
use  of  the  rosin,  and  do  therefore  send  you  the  following  advertisement, 
which  you  will  communicate  to  the  printer  ^   We  are  all  yours,  parficularly 

your  affectionate 

G.  CLOYNE. 

[Advertisenunf!] 
Mr.  Faulkner, 

The  following  being  a  very  safe  and  successful  cure  of  the  bloody 

flux,  which  at  this  time  is  become  so  general,  you  will  do  well  to  make 

it  public.     Give  a  heaped  spoonftd  of  common  rosin,  powdered,  in  a 

litde  fresh  broth,  every  five  or  six  hours,  till  the  bloody  flux  is  stopped; 

which  I  have  always  found  before  a  farthing's  worth  of  rosin  was  spent 

If,  after  the  blood  is  staunched,  there  remain  a  litde  looseness,  this  is 

soon  carried  ofi"  by  milk  and  water  boiled  with  a  litde  chalk  in  it    This 

cheap  and  easy  method  I  have  often  tried  of  late,  and  never  knew  it  fail 

I  am  your  humble  servant, 

A.  B. 


CloytUy  Feb.  24,  1740 — i. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  FIND  you  have  published  my  remedy  in  the  newspaper  of  this  day. 
I  now  tell  you  that   the  patients  must  be  careful  of  their  diet,  and 
especially  beware  of  taking  cold.     The  best  diet  I  find  to  be  plain  broth 
of  mutton  or  fowl,  without  seasoning  of  any  kind.     Their  drink  should 
be,  till  they  are  freed  both  from  dysentery  and  diarrhoea,  milk  and  water, 
or  plain  water  boiled  with  chalk,  drunk  warm,  e,g.  about  a  large  heaped 
spoonful  to  a  quart.     Sometimes  I  find  it  necessary  to  give  it  every  four 
hours,  and  to  continue  it  for  a  dose  or  two  after  the  blood  hath  been 
stopped,  to  prevent  relapses,  which  ill  management  has  now  and  then 

«  Cf.  Faulkntrs  Dublin  Journal, 


VIII.]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.         265 

occasioned.  Given  in  due  time  (the  sooner  the  better),  and  with  proper 
care,  I  take  it  to  be  as  sure  a  cure  for  a  dysentery  as  the  bark  for  an 
ague.  It  has  certainly,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  saved  many  lives,  and 
continues  to  save  many  lives  in  my  neighbourhood.  I  shall  be  glad  to 
know  its  success  in  any  instances  you  may  have  tried  it  in.  We  are  all 
yours.     Adieu, 

G.  CLOYNE. 


ClqynSy  May  19,  1741. 
Dear  Tom, 

The  Physico-Theology  you  mention  of  Dr.  Morgan*  is  not  the  book 
I  want ;  but  I  should  nevertheless  be  glad  to  have  it,  and  therefore  desire 
you  to  get  it,  with  the  French  book  of  Mr^  Bouillet  ^ 

Though  the  flax-seed  came  in  such  quantity  and  so  late,  yet  we  have 
above  one  half  ourselves  in  ground ;  the  rest,  together  with  our  own  seed, 
has  been  given  to  our  poor  neighbours,  and  will,  I  doubt  not,  answer, 
flie  weather  being  very  favourable. 

The  distresses  of  the  sick  and  poor  are  endless.     The  havoc  of  man- 
kind in  the  counties  of  Cork,  Limerick,  and  some  adjacent  places,  hath 
been  incredible.      The  nation  probably  will  not  recover  this  loss  in  a 
ccntur}'.     The  other  day  I  heard  one  from  the  county  of  Limerick  say 
that  whole  villages  were  entirely  dispeopled.     About  two  months  since  I 
heard  Sir  Richard  Cox  ®  say  that  five  hundred  were  dead  in  the  parish 
where  he  lives,  though  in  a  country  I  believe  not  very  populous. 
.  It  were  to  be  wished  people  of  condition  were  at  their  seats  in  the 
countr)'  during  these  calamitous  times,  which  might  provide  relief  and 
employment  for  the  poor.     Certainly  if  these  perish,  the  rich  must  be 
sufferers  in  the  end. 

Sir  John  Rawdon  ^  you  say,  is  canvassing  for  an  English  election.     If 
ke  doth  not  lose  it,  I  doubt  his  country  will  lose  him. 

Your  journey  hither  is,  it  seems,  put  off  for  some  time.     I  wish  you 
^ould  hasten :  the  sooner  the  better,  both  for  your  own  health  and  the 

*  Thomas  Morgan,  M.D.,  published  Pbilo-  '  Sir  Richard  Cox,  Bart.,  of  Dunmanway, 

lofhicaJ  Prinetples  of  Medicine^  &c.,  about  Co  Cork,  and  M.P.  for  Cloghnakilty,  born 

'730,  but  I  have  not  found  a  work  having  1702.  died  1766.      He  was  a  grandson  of 

the  above  title.  the  celebrated  Sir  Richard  Cox,  Lord  Chan- 

'  John  Bouillet  (1690 — 1770),  a  French  cellor  of  Ireland  in  Queen  Anne's  reign.    See 

medkal  writer,  author  of  Avis  tt  Remedts  Harris's  Ware,  vol.  U.  p.  207. 

coHiTi  la  Peste  (1721),  and  Sur  la  maniere  *  Cf.  p.  67. 
di  trtuter  la  Piti/e  VeroU  (i  736). 


266  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

pleasure  of  your  friends  in  this  family,  where  we  all  expect  you,  ^d 
think  we  have  an  annual  right  in  you. 

You  have  not  said  a  word  this  age  about  our  suit  with  Partinton. 
Pray  how  stands  that  matter  ? 

Adieu,  dear  Tom.     I  am  your  afifectionate  humble  servant, 

G.  CLOYNE. 

All  here  salute  you. 

We  have  tried  in  this  neighbourhood  the  receipt  of  a  decoction  of 
briar-roots  for  the  bloody  flux  which  you  sent  me,  and  in  some  cases 
found  it  useful.  But  that  which  we  find  the  most  speedy,  sure,  and  efifec- 
tual  cure,  above  all  others,  is  a  heaped  spoonful  of  rosin  dissolved  and 
mixed  over  a  fire  with  two  or  three  spoonfuls  of  oil,  and  added  to  a  pint 
of  broth  for  a  clyster ;  which,  upon  once  taking,  hath  never  been  known 
to  fail  stopping  the  bloody  flux.  At  first  I  mixed  the  rosin  in  the  broth, 
but  that  was  difficult,  and  not  so  speedy  a  cure. 

The  Berkeley  Papers  contain  the  following  rough  drafts  of  three 
letters,  which  must  have  been  written  by  Berkeley  about  this 
time,  as  appears  from  internal  evidence.  His  warm  heart  and 
playful  humour  characteristically  animate  these  fragments,  amidst 
the  prevailing  gloom.  All  of  them  refer  to  his  old  friend 
Richard  Dalton's  third  marriage.  The  first  is  addressed  to 
Dalton  himself: — 

When  I  expected  to  have  heard  you  were  an  exile  at  Rome  or 
Paris,  I  am  agreeably  surprised  to  hear  you  are  the  happiest  man 
in  London,  married  to  a  young  and  beautiful  nymph.  O  terque  qua- 
terque  beate,  in  this  degenerate  age ;  when  so  many  are  afraid  to  many 
once,  you  dare  to  do  it  a  third  time.  May  all  happiness  and  success 
attend  your  courage.  Were  I  a  Dictator,  there  should  be  a  Jus  trium 
uxorum^^  for  those  who  magnanimously  endeavour  to  repair  the  late 
breaches  made  upon  the  public  by  famine,  sickness,  and  wars. 

Without  compliment,  my  wife  and  I  do  sincerely  congratulate  your 
nuptials,  and  wish  your  example  may  prevail  with  those  worthy  batchelors   \ 
Sir  John  James  and  Mr.  Wolfe*',  who  have  not  much  time  to  lose.    A 
long  continuance  of  ill  health  has  weaned  me  from  the  world,  and  made 
me  look  with  indifference  on  the  most  dazzling  things  in  it    But,  so  long 

^®  A  parody  on   the   title   of  Jus  trium       lived  in  Dublin,  and  was  then  a  bachdoc 
liherorum.  about  fifty  years  of  age. 

^'  Perhaps  an  uncle  of  General  Wolfe,  who 


\ 


III.]       philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne. 


267 


I'l  live,  I  shall  retain  good  wishes  for  my  friends,  and  a  sense  of  their 

ippiness. 

I  look  upon  you  now  as  a  man  who  may  one  day  be  my  neighbour, 
■nd  take  it  for  granted  that  your  roving  spirit  is  fixed  in  your  native  land, 
Khich  I  was  heartily  sorry  to  think  had  been  forsaken  by  you  and  Sir 
^hn  James,  and  am  as  much  pleased  to  think  myself  mistaken.  Sir 
[ohn  iclls  me  his  health  can  stand  the  climate ;  and  for  everything  else 

imagine  he  will  give  the  preference  to  his  coimtry,  which,  with  all  its 
butts  about  it,  I  take  to  be  the  goodliest  spot  of  Europe. 

1  hope  all  your  family  are  well  and  thriving.  My  little  ones  are  so, 
amidst  a  raging  epidemic  (fever  and  bloody  flu-t) — tliree  sons  and  a 
daughter.  But  such  a  daughter  I  so  bright  a  little  gem  I  that,  to  prevent 
her  doing  mischief  among  the  illiterate  squires,  1  am  resolved  (o  treat 
her  like  a  boy  and  make  her  study  eight  hours  a  day  I 

h  does  not  appear  for  whom  the  next  scrap  was  meant  (unless 
Mr.  Wolfc),  but  it  evidently  belongs  to  the  same  date : — 

Dear  Sir, 
1  BAFB  lived  so  long  b  this  nook,  by  ill  health  as  well  as  situation  cut 
itf  ftom  the  ways  of  men  and  sequestered  from  the  rest  of  the  world 
. .  which  nevertheless  hath  not  effaced  the  memory  of  my  friends, 
ud  good  wishes  for  them. 

Voil  will  therefore  pardon  me  if,  having  no  news  to  send,  I  send  you 
tolead  thereof  a  letter  of  advice.  Our  friend  Mr.  Dalton  is,  I  hear, 
miried  tlie  third  time,  which  shews  him  to  be  a  prudent  man  as  well  as 
%  badable  patriot.  Such  an  example  is  indeed  a  public  benefit,  when  the 
Mdon  is  drained  by  war  and  hard  limes,  and  when  our  gentlemen  con- 
:  to  put  marriage  out  of  countenance.  It  is  to  be  wished  you  may 
_  it  by  this  example,  not  only  for  the  public  good  but  for  your  own. 
Though  you  are  far  from  being  an  old  man,  I  will  take  the  freedom  to 
ly  you  are  bordering  on  what  we  call  an  old  batchelor,  a  character  not 
Sk  most  useful  to  the  public,  nor  the  most  agreeable  10  him  that  wears  it, 
fornwr  point  needs  no  common-place  .to  clear  it.  For  the  other, 
give  me  leave  to  say,  Mr.  Dalton  and  I  are  better  judges  than  you. 
Health  and  affluence  may  bear  you  up  for  some  years,  but  when  age  and 
allies  come  on,  you  will  feel  and  bewail  the  want  of  a  family  of  yoiu- 
and  the  comforts  of  domestic  hfe.  A  wife  and  children  are  blessings 
Mvslnable,  which,  as  a  man  cannot  purchase  for  money,  so  he  would  sell 
Em  (or  no  price.  .  .  . 
P.S.    Give  me  leave  to  add  one  hint,  viz.,  that  Plato  (who  you  know 


268  Life  anil  Letters  of  Berkel^.  [ch. 

was  a  wise  man  for  a  Gentile)  sacrificed  to  nature  as  an  atonement  for 
his  not  having  children.  Your  godson  exceeds  my  hopes.  I  wish  I  had 
twenty  pike]  George.  I  assxu-e  you  I  would  rather  have  them  than 
twenty  thousand  pounds  a  year. 

The  fragment  which  follows,  where  he  speaks  more  distinctly 
about  the  nature  of  his  ill  health,  was  perhaps  intended  for  Sir 
John  James,  his  old  friend  and  companion  in  the  Rhode  Island 
expedition : — 

Your  letter  refreshed  me  like  a  shower  after  a  drought  I  thought 
you  had  been  in  foreign  lands,  but  am  glad  to  find  you  have  been  so 
long  in  England,  and  your  health  not  the  worse  for  it.  Give  me  leave 
to  reckon  it  at  least  among  the  possibilities,  that  you  may  sometime  or 
other  come  to  Bath,  and  from  thence  take  it  in  your  head  to  make 
a  short  trajet  to  our  coast,  where  you  will  find  me  with  a  wife,  three  sons, 
and  a  daughter — of  starlike  beauty — rejoicing  literally  under  our  fig-trees. 

Your  patriots  surely  are  the  most  profound  ot  the  most  stupid  of 
politicians.  Why  they  should  freely  and  with  open  eyes  make  such  a 
step  seems  a  most  inexplicable  riddle.  I  have  long  wished  well  to  the 
public,  but  my  wishes  have  been  so  often  disappointed,  that  public  affairs 
are  grown  more  my  amusement  than  concern.  But  news  will  alwaies  be 
entertaining. 

*  StuUorum  regum  et  populonim  continet  sstus.' 

I  thank  you  for  what  you  told  me.  What  you  sent  was  very  agreeable, 
as,  indeed,  a  line  from  you  always  will  be.  Here  we  have  no  news ;  but 
this,  in  all  this  province  of  Munster  great  devastations  are  made  by  bloody 
fluxes,  fevers,  and  want,  which  carry  off"  more  than  a  civil  war. 

Our  well-bred  friend  whom  you  call  the  Abb^  acts  a  becoming  part ; 
I  wish  we  had  many  more  such  Abb^s  among  his  brethren.  •  Mr.  Dalton» 
who  I  expected  was  abroad  with  you,  is,  it  seems,  made  happy  the  third 
time  (O  terque  quaterque  beatus)  ;  I  wish  you  would  once  [marry  to 
have  that  natural  comfort  of  children]  dare  to  do  what  he  does  so  often. 
Without  that  expedient  you  will  lose  the  comforts  of  domestic  We, 
that  natural  refuge  from  solitude  and  years  which  is  to  be  found  in  wife 
and  children.  Mine  are  to  me  a  great  joy  [the  chief  of  the  good  things 
of  this  world],  and  alone  capable  of  making  a  life  tolerable — so  much 
embittered  by  sickness  as  mine  has  been  for  several  years.  I  had  many 
symptoms  of  the  stone,  and  for  a  long  time  suspected  my  ....  cholic  to 
be  an  effect  thereof  But  of  late  I  am  satisfied  that  it  is  a  scorbutic 
cholic,  and  that  my  original  disease  is  the  scurvy. 


VIII.]      Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.        269 

An  important  letter  was  written  by  Berkeley  in  174 1.  In  that 
year  Sir  John  James  made  known  to  him  his  intention  of  joining 
the  Church  of  Rome.  His  regard  for  the  learning  and  goodness 
of  this  gentleman  induced  him  to  write  to  Sir  John  at  great  length 
on  the  subject,  at  a  time  too  when  Cloyne  was  a  scene  of  suffering. 
The  letter,  which  is  among  the  Berkeley  Papers  ^2,  is  interesting, 
as  it  is  almost  the  only  expression  we  have  of  his  views  upon 
some  of  the  points  of  difference  between  Roman  and  Anglican 
Theology  13  :  it  also  shows  some  of  the  directions  that  his  reading 
was  now  taking.  Some  parts  of  it  are  unfortunately  wanting,  but 
what  remains  is  as  follows: — 

CioyfUy  June  7,  1741. 

Dear  Sir, 

» 

I  WOULD  not  defer  writing,  though  I  write  in  no  small  confusion  and 
distress;  my  family  having  many  ill  of  an  epidemical  fever  that  rages  in 
these  parts,  and  I  being  the  only  physician  to  them  and  my  poor  neigh- 
bours. You  have  my  sincere  thanks  for  the  freedom  and  friendship  with 
which  you  are  so  good  to  communicate  your  thoughts.  Your  making 
the  unum  necessan'um  your  chief  business  sets  you  above  the  world. 
I  heartily  beg  of  God  that  He  would  give  me  grace  to  do  the  same ;  a 
heart  constantly  to  pursue  the  truth,  and  abide  in  it,  wherever  it  is  found. 

No  divine  could  say,  in  my  opinion,  more  for  the  Church  of  Rome 
than  you  have  done : — 

'  Si  Pergama  dextr/l 
Defend!  possent,  etiam  hac  defensa  fuissent.' 

[Virg.  ^neid.  II.   291.] 

The  Scriptures  and  Fathers,  I  grant,  are  a  much  better  help  to  know 
Christ  and  His  Religion  than  the  cold  and  dry  writings  of  our  modem 
divines.  Many  who  are  conversant  in  such  books,  I  doubt,  have  no 
more  relish  for  the  things  of  the  Gospel,  than  those  who  spend  their 
lime  in  reading  the  immense  and  innumerable  tomes  of  Scholastic 
Divinity,  \\ith  which  the  Church  of  Rome  abounds.  The  dry  polemical 
theology  was  the   growth  of  Rome,  begun  from  Peter  Lombard,  the 


'*  It    was   published    from    the    MS.,    in  one   or   two    allusions    in  Alcipbron.      His 

1850.    by    the    Rev.   James    Anderson    of  letters,  written    some   years   after   this,   to 

Brighton.  the  Roman  Catholics  of  Cloyne,  and  to  the 

"  See  also  Berkeley's   Visitation  Charge  Roman  Catholic  Clergy  of  Ireland,  do  not 

■  now   first  published  in  this   volume),  and  refer  to  points  of  doctrine. 


270  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkel^.  [ch. 

Master  of  the  Sentences^*;  and  grew  and  spread  among  the  Monks  and 
Friars,  under  the  Pope's  eye.  The  Church  of  England  is  not  without 
spiritual  writers  of  her  own.  Taylor,  Ken,  Beveridge,  Scott,  Lucas, 
Stanhope,  Nelson,  the  author  of  the  works  £ilsely  ascribed  to  the  writer 
of  the  Whole  Duty  of  Marty  and  many  more,  whom  I  believe  you  will  find 
not  inferior  to  those  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  But  I  freely  own  to  you 
that  most  modem  writings  smell  of  the  age,  and  that  there  are  no 
books  so  fit  to  make  a  soul  advance  in  spiritual  perfection,  as  the 
Scriptures  and  ancient  Fathers. 

I  think  you  will  find  no  Popery  in  St.  Augustine,  or  St.  Basil,  or  any 
writers  of  that  antiquity.  You  may  see,  indeed,  here  and  there,  in  the 
Fathers  a  notion  borrowed  from  Philosophy  (as  they  were  originally 
philosophers);  for  instance  something  like  a  Platonic  or  Pythagorean 
Purgatory.  But  you  will  see  nothing  like  indulgences,  or  a  bank  of 
merits,  or  a  Romish  purgatory,  whereof  the  Pope  has  the  key.  It  is  not 
simply  believing  even  a  Popish  tenet,  or  tenets,  that  makes  a  Papist,  but 
believing  on  the  Pope's  authority.  There  is  in  the  Fathers  a  divine 
strain  of  piety,  and  much  of  the  spiritual  life.  This,  we  acknowledge,  all 
should  aspire  after,  and  I  make  no  doubt  is  attainable,  and  actually 
attained,  in  the  communion  of  our  Church,  at  least  as  well  as  in  any 
other. 

You  observe  very  justly  that  Christ's  religion  is  spiritual,  and  the 
Christian  life  supernatural ;  and  that  there  is  no  judge  of  spiritual  things 
but  the  Spirit  of  God.  We  have  need,  therefore,  of  aid  and  light  from 
above.  Accordingly,  we  have  the  Spiiit  of  God  to  guide  us  into  all 
truth.  If  we  are  sanctified  and  enlighted  by  the  Holy  Ghost  and  by 
Christ,  this  will  make  up  for  our  defects  without  the  Pope's  assistance. 
And  why  our  Church  and  her  pious  members  may  not  hope  for  this  help 
as  well  as  others,  I  see  no  reason.  The  Author  of  our  faith  tells  us,  He 
that  *  will  do  the  will  of  God,  shall  know  of  the  doctrine,  whether  it  be  of 
God.'  (S.  John  vii.  17.)     I  believe  this  extends  to  all  saving  truths. 

There  is  an  indwelling  of  Christ  and  the  Holy  Spirit;  there  is  an 
inward  light.  If  there  be  an  ignis  fatuus  that  misleads  wild  and  con- 
ceited men,  no  man  can  thence  infer  there  is  no  light  of  the  sim.  There 
must  be  a  proper  disposition  of  the  organ,  as  well  as  a  degree  of  day- 
light, to  make  us  see.  Where  these  concur  nobody  doubts  of  what  he 
sees.  And  a  christian  soul,  wherein  there  is  faith,  humility,  and  obe- 
dience, will  not  fail  to  see  the  right  way  to  salvation  by  that  light  which 
lightens  the  Gentiles,  and  is  a  glory  to  Israel. 

^^  So  named  from  his  Liber  Sentmtiarum^  the  standard  book  of  Scholastic  Theology, 
which  appeared  in  1 172. 


VIII.]      Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.        271 

There  is  an  invisible  Church,  whereof  Christ  is  the  head ;  the  mem- 
bers of  which  are  linked  together  by  faith,  hope,  and  charity.  By  faith 
in  Christ,  not  in  the  Pope.  Popes  are  no  unerring  rule,  for  Popes  have 
erred:  witness  the  condemnation  and  suppression  of  Sixtus  Quintus's 
Bible  by  his  successor*'.  Witness  the  successions  of  Anti-Popes  for  a 
bng  tract  of  time. 

There  is  a  secxiet  imction,  an  inward  light  and  joy,  that  attends  the 
sincere  fervent  love  of  God  and  His  truth,  which  enables  men  to  go  on 
with  all  cheerfulness  and  hope  in  the  Christian  warfare.  You  ask.  How 
I  shall  discern  or  know  this  ?  I  answer  much  more  easily  than  I  can 
that  this  particular  man,  or  this  particular  society  of  men,  is  an  imerring 
rule.  Of  the  former  I  have  an  inward  feeling,  joindy  with  the  internal, 
as  well  as  exterior,  Xcfyof,  to  inform  me.  But  for  the  latter  I  have  only 
the  Pope's  word,  and  that  of  his  followers. 

It  is  dangerous  arguing  from  our  notion  of  the  expediency  of  a  thing 
to  the  reality  of  the  thing  itself.  But  I  can  plainly  argue  from  facts 
against  the  being  of  such  an  expedient.  In  the  first  centurys  of  the 
Church,  when  heresies  abounded,  the  expedient  of  a  Pope,  or  Roman 
oracle,  was  unknown,  unthought  of.  There  was  then  a  Bishop  of  Rome ; 
but  that  was  no  hindrance  or  remedy  of  divisions.  Disputes  in  the 
Catholic  Church  were  not  ended  by  his  authority.  No  recourse  was  had 
to  his  infallibility ;  an  evident  proof  they  acknowledged  no  such  thing. 
The  date  of  his  usurpations,  and  how  they  grew  with  his  secular  power, 
you  may  plainly  see  in  Giannoni's  History  of  Naples^^ :  I  do  not  refer  you 
to  a  Protestant  writer. 

Men  travelling  in  daylight  see  by  one  common  light,  though  each  with 
his  own  eyes.  If  one  man  should  say  to  the  rest,  Shut  your  eyes  and 
follow  me,  who  can  see  better  than  you  all ;  this  would  not  be  well  taken. 
The  sincere  Christians  of  our  communion  are  governed,  or  led,  by  the 
inward  light  of  God's  grace,  by  the  outward  light  of  His  written  word, 
by  the  ancient  and  Catholic  traditions  of  Christ's  Church,  by  the  ordi- 
nances of  our  national  Church,  which  we  take  to  consist  all  and  hang 
together.  But  then  we  see,  as  all  must  do,  with  our  own  eyes,  by  a 
common  light,  but  each  with  his  own  private  eyes.  And  so  must  you 
too,  or  you  will  not  see  at  all.     And,  not  seeing  at  all,  how  can  you 


"  The  reference  is  to  the  Vulgate,  authen-  thohcs    in    Gibson's    Preservative    against 

ticated  by  the  Council  of  Trent,  and  com-  Popery. 

manded  by  Pope  Sixtus  V   in   1590  to  be  **  PietroGiannoni(l676 — 1 748)  devoted 

adopted   by  the  Church  ;    two  years  after-  twenty  years  of  learned  research  to  this  cele- 

wards  condemned,  and   ordered   to  be  sup-  brated  History,  the  freedom  and  candour  of 

pressed  by  his  successor  Clement  VIII.  This  which  brought  upon  him  the  lasting  hostility 

is  presented  as  a   dilemma   to  Roman  Ca-  of  the  Church.   He  died  in  prison  at  Turin. 


272  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

chuse  a  Church?  why  prefer  that- of  Rome  to  that  of  England?  Thus 
far,  and  in  this  sense,  every  man's  judgement  is  private  as  well  as  ours. 
Some,  indeed,  go  further ;  and,  without  regard  to  the  Holy  Spirit,  or  the 
Word  of  God,  or  the  writings  of  the  primitive  Fathers,  or  the  universal 
uninterrupted  traditions  of  the  Church,  will  pretend  to  canvass  eveij 
mystery,  every  step  of  Providence,  and  reduce  it  to  the  private  standard 
of  their  own  fancy ;  for  reason  reaches  not  those  things.  Such  as  these 
I  give  up  and  disown,  as  well  as  you  do. 

I  grant  it  is  meet  that  the  Law  of  Christ  should,  like  other  laws,  have 
magistrates  to  explain  and  apply  it  But  then,  as  in  the  civil  State,  a 
private  man  may  know  the  law  enough  to  avoid  transgressing  it,  and  also 
to  see  whether  the  magistrates  deviate  from  it  into  tyranny :  even  so,  in 
the  other  case,  a  private  Christian  may  know,  and  ought  to  know,  the 
written  law  of  God,  and  not  give  himself  up  blindly  to  the  dictates  of  the 
Pope  and  his  assessors.  This,  in  effect,  would  be  destroying  the  law, 
and  erecting  a  despotic  government  instead  thereof.  It  would  be 
deserting  Christ,  and  taking  the  Pope  for  his  master. 

I  think  it  my  duty  to  become  a  little  child  to  Christ  and  His  Apostles, 
but  not  to  the  Pope  and  his  courtiers.  That  many  honest  and  well- 
meaning  men  live  under  such  thraldom  I  freely  admit,  and  am  sorry  for 
it.  I  trust  that  God  will  have  compassion  on  them,  as  knowing  how 
they  were  educated,  and  the  force  of  first  impressions.  But  we,  who 
never  had  their  education,  cannot  plead  their  prejudices. 

Light  and  heat  are  both  found  in  a  religious  mind  duly  disposed 
Light,  in  due  order,  goes  first.  It  is  dangerous  to  begin  with  heat,  that 
is,  with  the  affections.  To  balance  earthly  affections  by  spiritual  affec- 
tions is  right.  But  our  affections  should  grow  from  enquiry  and  delibe- 
ration; else  there  is  danger  of  our  being  superstitious  or  enthusiasts 
An  affection  conceived  towards  a  particular  Church,  upon  reading  some 
spiritual  authors  of  that  communion,  which  might  have  left  a  byas  in  the 
mind,  is,  I  apprehend,  to  be  suspected.  Most  men  act  with  a  bya& 
God  knows  how  far  my  education  may  have  byassed  me  against  the 
Church  of  Rome,  or  how  far  a  love  of  retreat  and  a  fine  climate  may 
byas  me  towards  it.  It  is  our  duty  to  try  and  divest  ourselves  of  all  byas 
whatsoever. 

Whatever  unguarded  expressions  may  be  found  in  this  or  that  Pro- 
testant divine,  it  is  certainly  the  doctrine  of  our  Church  that  no  par- 
ticular Church,  or  congregation  of  believers,  is  infallible.  We  hold  aB 
mankind  to  be  peccable  and  errable,  even  the  Pope  himself,  with  all  that 
belong  to  him.  We  are  like  men  in  a  cave,  in  this  present  life,  seeing 
by  a  dim  light  through  such  chinks  as  the  Divine  goodness  hath  opened 


III.]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.         273 

os".  Wc  dare  not  talk  in  the  high,  unerring,  positive  style  of  the 
omuiist^  We  confess  that  '  we  sec  through  a  glass  darkly'  (i  Cor. 
iL  11);  and  rejoice  that  we  see  enough  to  determine  our  practice,  and 
xctte  our  hopes. 

An   humble,  devout   penitent    believer,  not  byassed   by  any  terrene 

Sections,  but  sincerely  aiming  and  endeavoiuing,  by  all  the  means  God 

h  given  him,  to  come  at  truth,  need  not  fear  being  admitted  into  the 

uogdom  of  God  without  ihe  Pope's   passport.     There  is  indeed  an 

sible  Church  whereof  Christ  is  head ;    linked  together  by  charity, 

Bitnated  with  the  same  hope,  sanctified  by  the  same  Spirit,  heirs  of  the 

me  promise.     This  is  the  Universal  Church,  militant  and  triumphant: 

e  militant.  <lispersed  in  all  parts  of  Cbrislendom,  partaking  of  the  same 

^Drd   and  Sacraments.      There  are  also  visible,  political  or  national 

burches :  none  of  which  is  Universal.     It  would  be  a  blunder  to  say 

nicnlar  universal.      And  yet,  I  know  not  how,  the  style  of  Roman 

Uholic  haih  preraiied-    The  members  of  this  universal  Church  arc  not 

Bible  by  outward  marks,  but  certainly  known  only  to  God,  whose  Spirit 

ill  sancUlie  and  maintain  it  to  the  end  of  time. 

The  Church  is  a  calling,  /MXijm'n :  ■  Many  are  called,  but  few  are 

losen.'  (S.  Matt.  xsii.  14.)     Therefore  there  is  no  reckoning  the  elect 

f  the  number  of  visible  members.    There  must  be  the  invisible  grace, 

I  well  as  the  outward  sign ;  the  spiritual  life  and  holy  unction  to  make 

>  real  member  of  Christ's  invisible  Churc5i.     The  particular  Churches  of 

Jerusalem,  Antioch,  Alexandria,  Rome,   &c.  have  all  fallen  into  error. 

|An.  XIX.)      And  yet,  in  their  most  corrupt  and  erroneous  state,  I 

keBeve   ihcy  have  included  some  true  members  of  that  body  whereof 

'Christ  b  head;'   of  that  building  whereof  He  is  'the  comer  stone.* 

(E[d>cs.  iv.  15  ;  ii.  so.)     '  Other  foundation  can  no  man  lay,'  but  on  this 

bondation.     There  may  be  superstructures  of  '  hay  stubble'  (1  Cor.  iii, 

Ji,  13),  and  much  contemptible  trash,  without   absolutely  annihilating 

dw  Church.     This  1  lake  to  have  been    evidently  the  case.     Christ's 

Mgion  is  spiritual  and  supernatural ;  and  there  is  an  unseen  cement  of 

Ae  bithful,  «'ho  draw  grace  from  the  same  source,  are  enlightened  by 

%i  sune  '  Father  of  lights'  (James  i.   17),  and  sanctilied  by  the  same 

jBpirit.     And  this,  although  they  may  be  members  of  different  political 

^  vitiUe  congregations,  may  be  estranged,  or  suspected,  or  even  excom- 

■onicate  to  each  other.     They  may  be  loyal  to  Christ,  however  divided 

toong  themselves.     This  is  the  charitable  belief  of  the  true  sons  of  our 

Bhmh ;  however  contrary  to   the  damning  temper  of  Rome,  and  the 


r  severity  of  Dissenters. 


1.  367- 


274  Lifo  ^^  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

To  explain  this  by  a  familiar  instance.  When  King  Chaiks  IL 
was  at  Brussels,  he  had  friends  in  England  of  different  factions,  and 
suspected,  or  even  hated,  each  by  other ;  who  yet  alike  wished  the  King 
well,  and  corresponded  with  him,  though  not  with  <Hie  another.  The 
King  knew  his  loyal  subjects,  though  they  were  not  known,  owned,  or 
trusted  mutually.  They  all  promoted  his  return,  though  by  different 
schemes;  and,  when  he  came  to  his  kingdom,  they  aD  rejoiced  with 
him. 

But  perhaps  you  will  say  there  is  need  of  an  infallible  visiUe  guide  for 
the  soul's  quiet  But  of  what  use  is  an  infallible  guide  without  an  inBeJ- 
lible  sign  to  know  him  by '^  ?  We  have  often  seen  Pope  against  Pope,  and 
Council  against  Council.  What  or  whom  shall  we  follow  in  these  con- 
tests, but  the  written  Word  of  God,  the  Apostolical  traditions,  and  the 
internal  light  of  the  Xc^,  that  irradiates  every  mind,  but  is  not  equally 
observed  by  all  ^*  ?  If  you  say,  notwithstanding  these  helps  and  lights,  that 
we  are  still  weak,  and  have  weak  eyes;  in  a  word,  that  we  may  err: 
I  say,  so  may  you.  Man  is  fallible ;  and  God  knows  it ;  and  God  is  just 
I  am  more  easy  on  these  principles,  and  this  way  of  thinking,  than  if  I 
tamely  and  slothfuUy  gave  myself  up  to  be  ridden  and  hoodwinked  by 
the  Pope,  or  by  any  other  visible  judge  upon  earth. 

The  security  and  repose  of  souls  is  pretended  or  {M-omised  to  be  had 
in  the  bosom  of  the  Roman  Church.  But,  I  think,  least  of  all  to  be 
hoped  for,  in  a  Church  which,  by  her  doctrine  of  the  priest's  intention 
being  necessary  to  the  efficacy  of  Sacraments,  must  raise  in  every  think- 
ing member  infinite  and  indissoluble  scruples.  Since  it  is  acknowledged 
that  many  Infidels  and  Jews  and  Mahometans  have  been  ordained,  and 
possessed  all  degrees  of  dignity,  and  administered  all  Sacraments,  in  the 
Church  of  Rome :  therefore  all  Sacraments  derived  either  mediately  or 
immediately  from  such,  were  ineffectual :  therefore,  no  particular  mem- 
ber can  know,  upon  the  principles  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  whether  he  is 
a  Christian  or  not :  therefore,  that  very  Church,  which  sets  up  above  all 
others  for  making  men  easy  and  secure  within  her  communion,  is, 
indeed,  more  than  any  other,  Calculated  for  producing  doubts  and 
scruples,  such  as  I  do  not  see  possible  how  they  should  be  solved  or 
quieted  upon  her  principles. 

You  seem  to  think  the  numerousness  of  her  sons  an  argument 
of  her  truth.  But  it  is  admitted  the  Mahometans  are  more  numerous 
than  the  Christians;    and  that  the  Arians,  once  upon   a  time,  were 

''  So  argued  in  tracts  contained  in  Gib-  the  Scriptures, 
ion's  Pnservativt.     The  Romanists  retort  ^  The  Xirfot^  and  the  •  inward  light,'  now 

by  an  argununhtm  ad  bominem,  as  against  appear  in  Berkeley,  and  more  fully  after- 

'  Protestant  defenders  of  the  infalh'bility  of  wards  in  Siris, 


vni.]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne. 


275 


more  numerous  than  ihe  Orthodox.  Therefore,  that  argument  con- 
cludes nothing. 

As  for  her  miracles,  which  you  think  so  well  aiiesled  that  thinking 
Protestants  dare  not  deny  them,  I  declare  honestly  thai  the  best  attested 
of  her  miracles  that  I  have  met  with,  and  the  only  that  seemed  to  have 
»oy  verisimilitude,  were  those  said  to  be  performed  at  the  tomb  of  Abb^ 
[Paris*:  and  those  are  not  admitted  by  the  Church  of  Rome  herself.     I 

ive  read,  enquired,  and  observed  myself,  when  abroad,  concerning  their 
tezorcisms,  and  miracles" ;  and  must  needs  say  they  ali  appeared  so  many 

>ss  impositions.  As  for  the  miracles  said  to  be  performed  in  foreign 
ions,  I  can  give  no  credit  to  them  (I  judge  by  what  accounts  I  have 
) ;  and,  if  you  will  be  at  the  trouble  of  perusing  the  Leilres  idifianles 
riiusei,  /crilfs  d-s  jMi'ssions  Eirangires,  printed  at  Paiis,  perhaps  you 
lay  chink  of  diem  as  I  do. 

As  for  the  Roman  Saints  and  Martyrs,  please  lo  read  their  legends,  or 
even  the  canonizations  of  the  last  century,  since  Rome  bath  been 
enlightened  and  something  reformed  by  our  Reformation,  for  those  of 
St.  Pielro  d'Alcantra  and  St.  Magdalena  de  Pazzi.  I  believe  you  never 
read  of  anything  like  them  and  iheir  marvellous  wonders,  which  never- 
Uieless  were  admitted  for  authentic  by  Pope  and  Cardinals.  I  myself  saw 
fiid  conversed  with  a  woman  at  Genoa,  a  reputed  Saint,  whose  head  I 
Hict  three  years  after,  encircled  with  rays,  lo  be  sold  among  other  pictures 
in  the  great  square  of  Leghorn.  This  same  Saint  appeared  lo  me  very 
fnanifesUy  a  vile  lying  hypocrite,  though  much  extolled  and  admired. 

I  r>ever  saw  any  character  of  a  Popish  Martyr  that  came  up  to  that  of 
Jerome  of  Prague,  one  of  the  first  Reformers;  for  which  I  refer  you  lo 
Poggtus,  and  .^neas  Sylvius,  who  was  eye-witness  to  his  behaviour,  and 
afterwards  became  Pope, 

Cranmer,  Ridley,  and  Latimer  were,  I  think,  good  men,  and  acted  on 
good  motives.  So  was  Jewell  a  very  good  man.  I  wish  you'd  read  his 
Uule  Latin  book  in  defence  of  the  Reformation'^.  1  have  not  seen  it  these 
ibirty  years;  but  remember  I  liked  it  well  Hooker,  Usher,  Dodweil, 
Fell,  Hammond,  and  many  more  Protestants  of  our  Church,  had  piety 
equal  to  their  learning. 


1717. 


'  Cf.  pp.  69.  70.     The 


276  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [CH. 

Basil  Kennet[t],  Chaplain  to  the  factory  of  Leghorn  in  Queen  Anne's 
reign,  was  esteemed  and  called  a  Saint  by  the  Papists  themselves,  as  the 
English  merchants  there  assured  me.  On  the  other  hand,  in  so  many 
converts,  and  such  a  numerous  clergy,  that  there  may  be  found  sundry 
good  and  learned  men,  I  make  no  doubt,  whose  learning  and  piety  are 
skilfully  made  use  of  and  applied  by  the  Court  of  Rome  to  extend  her 
influence  and  credit. 

You  mention  monasteries  to  have  been  anciently  regarded  as  schools 
of  Divine  Philosophy.  But  there  is,  by  what  I  can  find,  no  similitude 
between  ancient  and  modem  monks.  Compare  what  St.  Bernard,  in  his 
treatise  De  VUd  Solitaridy  saith  of  the  monks  of  Thebais,  with  what  you 
will  see  in  the  monasteries  of  Flanders.  I  fear  there  is  no  corruption, 
or  perversion,  worse  than  that  of  a  monastic  life. 

It  seems  very  expedient  that  the  world  should  have,  among  the  many 
formed  for  action,  some  also  formed  for  contemplation,  the  influence 
whereof  might  be  general  and  extend  to  others.  But  to  get  men  and 
women  to  a  contemplative  life,  who  are  neither  fitted  nor  addicted  to 
contemplation,  is  a  monstrous  abuse.  To  assist  the  Xwns  and  ^17^  of 
the  Soul  by  meditation  was  a  noble  purpose,  even  in  the  eyes  of  Pagan 
Philosophy**.  How  much  more  so  in  the  eyes  of  Christians,  whose 
philosophy  is  of  all  others  the  most  sublime,  and  the  most  calculated 
to  wean  our  thoughts  from  things  carnal,  and  raise  them  above  things 
terrestrial ! 

That  the  contemplative  and  ascetic  life  may  be  greatly  promoted  by 
living  in  community  and  by  rules,  I  freely  admit.  The  institution  of  the 
Essenes  among  the  Jews,  or  the  Republic  of  Philosophers,  that  was  to 
have  been  settled  in  a  city  to  have  been  built  by  the  direction  of  Plotinus**, 
in  the  territory  of  Capua,  if  the  Emperor  Gallienus  had  not  changed  his 
mind ; — such  institutions  as  these  give  delightful  images,  but  very  different 
from  anything  that  I  could  ever  see  in  a  Popish  convent ;  and  I  have 
seen  and  known  many  of  them. 

I  should  like  a  convent  without  a  vow,  or  perpetual  obligation.  Doubt- 
less, a  college  or  monastery  (not  a  resource  for  younger  brothers,  not  a 
nursery  for  ignorance,  laziness,  and  superstition)  receiving  only  gro^^n 
persons  of  approved  piety,  learning,  and  a  contemplative  turn,  would  be 
a  great  means  of  improving  the  Divine  Philosophy,  and  brightening  up  the 
face  of  religion  in  our  Church.     But  I  should  still  expect  more  success 

"  This  was  a  growing   sentiment   with  life  at  Rome,  where  he  died,  A.D.  370.  He 

Berkeley  now,  which  showed  itself  soon  after  projected  a  city  in  Campania  on  the  modd 

in  his  writings.     Cf.  Siris^  sect.  302,  358.  of  the  Republic  of  Plato.    Berkeley  was  now 

^  Plotinus,  the  Neoplatonist  of  AJexan-  drawing  towards  Plotinus  and  the  Neoplato- 

dria,  spent  the  last  twenty-iive  years  of  his  nists,  as  we  see  soon  after  this  in  8irU. 


VIII.]       Philanthropy  and  Phibsophy  at  Cloy  fie.         277 

from  a  namber  of  gentlemen,  living  independentiy  at  Oxford",  who  made 
divine  things  their  study,  and  proposed  to  wean  themselves  from  what  is 
called  the  world. 

You  remark  on  the  badness  of  men  and  views  that  seem  to  have  con- 
curred in  the  Reformation.  That  there  may  be  some  truth  in  the 
charge,  I  will  not  deny.  But  I  deny  that  this  can  be  an  argument 
against  the  Reformation;  since  you  seem  to  grant  yourself  that  the 
Church  of  Rome  hath  been  reformed  on  occasion  of  our  Reformation, 
which  yet  you  condemn.  Evil  men  and  councils  may  sometimes  be  the 
occasion  of  good.  And  it  is  on  all  hands  admitted  that  God  knows  how 
to  extract  good  from  evil. 

The  charge  of  Idolatry  on  the  Church  of  Rome  (which  you  make  so 
light  of )  is,  I  fear,  not  without  foundation.  For,  although  the  learned 
may,  and  do,  distinguish  between  a  relative  respect  for  images,  and  an 
absolute  worship  of  them** ;  yet  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  use  made 
of  them  .becomes  a  great  snare  to  the  multitude.  I  myself,  by  talking  to 
some  common  people  in  Italy,  found  they  worshipped  images  with  an 
adoration  as  formal  and  stupid  as  any  heathen  idolater.  And  both  I 
and  every  other  traveller  must  see  (and  the  best  men  among  themselves 
are  scandalized  to  see  it)  that  the  Blessed  Virgin  is  often  prayed  to  and 
more  worshipped  than  God  Himself. 

You  speak  of  the  unity  and  peace  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  as  an  effect 
of  the  Spirit  of  God  presiding  in  it,  and  of  the  doctrine  of  an  infallible 
head.  But  the  fact  is  denied.  Successions  of  Ami-Popes  with  horrible 
dissensions,  violent  measures  and  convulsions  ensuing  thereupon,  suf- 
ficiently show  the  contrary.  The  Court  of  Rome,  it  must  be  owned,  hath 
learned  the  Venetian  policy  of  silencing  her  sons,  and  keeping  them 
quiet  through  fear.  But  where  there  breathes  a  little  spirit  of  learning 
and  freedom,  as  in  France ;  or,  where  distance  has  lessened  respect,  as 
in  China;  there  have  often  appeared,  and  ever  and  anon  continue  to 
appear,  great  struggles,  parties,  and  divisions,  both  in  matters  of  faith 
and  discipline.  And,  where  they  are  quiet,  their  union  seems,  so  far  as 
I  can  judge,  a  political  union,  founded  in  secular  power  and  arts,  rather 
than  an  effect  of  any  divine  doctrine  or  spirit. 

Those  who  are  conversant  in  history  plainly  see  by  what  secular  arts 
the  Papal  power  was  acquired.  To  history,  therefore,  I  refer  you.  In 
the  mean  time,  I  cannot  forbear  making  one  remark  which  I  know  not 

*  Here  first  Berkeley  speaks  of  Oxford  those  whom  they  represent  or  symbolise — 
as  the  scene  of  an  ideal  life.  after  the   analogy  of  family  pictures,  &c. 

*  So  in  Bossuet's  Exposition,  sect.  5,  where  Cf.   also    references    in    Berkeley's    Italian 
he  defends  images  as  means  of  sustaining  in  Tour. 

devout  persons  the  religious  remembrance  of 


278  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

whether  it  hath  been  made  by  others.     Rome  seems  to  have  cut  her  o^ro 

throat  by  the  forgery  of  Constandne's  Donation*',  in  which  there  is  this 

remarkable  clause :  Decernentes  sancimus,  ut  Romana  Ecclesta  principahm 

ietuat  iam  super  quatuor  sedes^  Alexandrinam^  Antiochenam,  Hierosolymh 

ianam,  ac  ConstantinopoUtanam^  quam  etiam  super  amnes  in  unwerso  orU 

terrarum  Dei  ecclesias. 

Doth  not  this  look  like  an  acknowledgment  that  the  see  of  Rome 

oweth  her  pre-eminence  to  the  appointment  of  Constantine  the  Gfeat^ 

and  not  to  any  divine  right  ? 

****** 

[In  ikis  pari  0/ the  MS,  four  pages  are  wanting.     In  wkai/ottcws,  chasm 

are  supplied  here  and  there  by  words  within  brackets^ 

many  innovations  are  in  theirs,  which  we  account  repugnant  to  the  Word 

of  God,  and  the  primitive  traditions.   Therefore,  a  Piapist  of  any  tolerable 

reason,  though  bred  up  in  the  Roman  Church,  may,  nevertheless,  with 

a  good  conscience,  occasionally  join  in  our  worship ;  and  I  have  known 

this  done.     May  I  not  therefore  hope  that  you  will  continue  to  do  it,  and 

not,  in  perfect  complaisance  to  the  Pope,  renoimce  and  damn  us  aU  ?  In  the 

mean  time,  you  may  deliberate,  continue  your  impartial  inquiry,,  and  well 

weigh  your  steps,  before  you  range  imder  the  Pope  and  receive  his  mark. 

I  had  forgot  to  say  a  word  of  Confession,  which  you  mention  as  an 
advantage  in  the  Church  of  Rome  which  is  not  to  be  had  in  ours.  Bat 
it  may  be  had  in  our  communion,  by  any  who  please  to  have  it ;  and,  I 
admit,  it  may  be  very  usefully  practised.  But,  as  it  is  managed  in  the 
Church  of  Rome,  I  apprehend  it  doth  infinitely  more  mischief  than  good. 
Their  casuistry  seemeth  a  disgrace,  not  only  to  Christianity,  but  even  to 
the  light  of  nature. 

As  Plato  thanked  the  gods  that  he  was  bom  an  Athenian,  so  I  think 
it  a  peculiar  blessing  to  have  been  educated  in  the  Church  of  England. 
My  prayer,  nevertheless,  and  trust  in  God  is,  not  that  I  shall  live  and  die 
in  this  Church,  but  in  the  true  Church.  For,  after  all,  in  respect  of 
religion,  our  attachment  should  only  be  to  the  truth  *^.  I  might,  therefore, 
own  myself  a  little  surprised  upon  observing  that  you  concluded  your 
letter  ^vith  declaring — You  trust,  by  God's  grace,  to  live  and  die  in  the 
Church  of  Rome.  I  can  easily  suppose  that  the  expression  was  a  sUp ; 
but  I  can  never  suppose  that  all  [the]  skill  and  arts  of  Rome  can  destroy 
your  candour. 

You  will  pardon  the  freedom  of  an  old  friend,  who  speaks  his  thoughts 
Wuntly,  just  as  they  come,  to  one  who  used  to  be  [a  man]  of  frankness 

^  A  forgery  which  appeared  in  the  ninth  century,  in  which  Charlemagne  is  exhorted  to 
iinitate  the  great  Constantine.  "  So  afterwaids  in  Sins^  sect  368. 


Viii.j       Philanthropy  and  Phibsopky  at  Cioyiic.         279 

WJtbout  rorms.     If  I  have  exceeded  in  this  kind,  impute  it  Lo  haste,  as    | 
•ell  as  m_v  repetitions,  inaccuracies,  and  want  of  order.     You  set  me  a 
time ;  and  I  have  obeyed  as  I  could  ;  hoping  that  your  own  thought  will    I 
give  clearness  and  method  to  my  broken  and  indigested  hints. 

To  your  own  thoughts  I  appeal,  trusting  that  God  will  give  you  grace 
lo  think  for  yourself,  and  to  exert  that  sharpness  of  Judgement,  which  He 
has  given  you,  with  double  diligence,  in  this  most  weighty  affair.  There 
are  some  writings  of  my  Lord  Falkland's,  concerning  the  Infallibility  of 
ihe  Roman  Church,  bound  up  in  the  second  volume  of  Dr.  Hammond's 
works,  logelher  widi  some  learned  arguments  in  behalf  of  the  Church  of 
Rome  *•,  I  have  nol  read  those  writings ;  but  on  the  reputation  of  Lord 
Falkland,  venture  to  recommend  [them]  10  your  perusal. 

The  importance  of  the  subject,  together  with  my  esteem  and  afTecIion 
ftx  you,  have  nm  me  into  a  greater  length  than  I  intended  :  which  if  you 
■re  so  good  as  to  pardon  this  once,  I  promise  to  be  more  succinct  and 
methodicaj  another  time,  if  you  think  fit  lo  favour  me  with  an  answer. 
In  which  case  I  would  entreat  you  to  number  your  paragraphs  with 
figures  prefixed,  which  will  govern  and  shorten  my  answer. 

The  years  I  have  lived,  (he  pains  I  have  taken,  and  the  distempers  I 
labour  under,  make  me  suspect  I  have  not  long  to  live.  And,  certainly, 
my  remnant  of  life,  be  it  what  it  will,  could  be  spun  out  delightfully  in 
Ibe  san  and  the  fresco,  among  the  fountains  and  groHos,  the  music,  the 
antiquities,  the  fine  arts  and  buildings  of  Rome,  if  I  could  once  recom- 
mend myself  to  her  religion.  But  I  trust  in  God,  those  fia  .  .  .  things 
ibaJl  never  bribe  my  judgement.  Dress  therefore  your  batteries  against 
my  reason  :  attack  me  by  the  dry  light  "  *  *  assign  me  some  good 
msOD  why  I  should  not  use  my  reason,  but  submit  at  once  to  his 
Holiocss's  will  and  pleasure.  Though  you  are  conqueror,  I  shall  be  a 
I  Rainer.  In  the  work  of  truth  I  am  ready  to  hear  and  canvass  with  the 
'  best  of  •  •  *  skill,  whatever  you  shall  be  so  good  to  offer. 

To  your  kind  enquiry  about  m>-  health,  I  can  say  that,  though  1  am 
Ml  well,  yet  I  am  less  bad  than  I  was  a  year  ago ;  and  that  .  .  .  minal 
disorders  seem  lo  quit  me,  though  with  a  leisurely  pace.     (My  famjily  is 

■  a  great  comfort  lo  me.     My  wife,  who  is  just  recovered  from  an  illness, 

■  ahraJes  remembers  you  with  the  highest  esteem  ;  and  interests  herself  in 
I  four  welfare.     She  sends  her  compliments:  but  knows  nothing  of  the 

nbjecl  of  oiu-  correspondence.  If  she  did,  I  doubt  it  would  make  her 
■task  better  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  in  which  she  liked  some  things 
wbcD  she  was  in  France.     She  is  become  a  great  farmer  of  late,     In 

iric  wtillBQ  by  the  Lord  Viteounl 


28o 


Life  a  fid  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


these  hard  times  we  employ  above  a  hundred  men  every  day  in  agri- 
culture of  one  kind  or  other ;  all  which  my  wife  directs.  This  is  a 
charity,  which  pays  itself.  At  least  the  Domaine  of  this  see  will  gain  b]r 
it  Oh  I  that  you  had  a  farm  of  a  hundred  acres  near  Oxford !  What  a 
pleasure  it  would  be  to  improve  and  embellish  the  face  of  nature,  to  lead 
the  life  of  a  patriarch  rather  than  a  friar,  a  modem  cloystered  friar !  My 
wife  finds  in  it  a  fund  of  health  and  spirits,  beyond  all  the  fashionable 
amusements  in  the  world.  Dear  Sir,  you  have  the  best  wishes  and  most 
hearty  prayers  of  your  most  obedient  and  affectionate  servant, 

G.  CLOYNE, 

Sir  John  James,  who  was,  I  believe,  the  last  baronet  of  the  line, 
died  about  three  months  after  this  letter  was  written.  From 
Berkeley's  friendship  hx  him,  and  any  incidental  notices,  we  may 
conclude  that  he  was  one  of  a  thoughtful  and  noble  nature — who 
lived  above  what  is  called  *  the  world,'  making  the  pursuit  of  truth 
and  the  unum  necessarium  his  chief  business^. 


The  Rev.  Dr.  Robert  Berkeley,  referred  to  in  the  preceding 
correspondence  as  *  my  brother  Robin,*  was  settled  in  1741  as 
Rector  of  Midleton,  about  three  miles  from  Cloyne,  to  spend 
there  the  remainder  of  his  long  life.  He  was  also  for  almost  half 
a  century  Treasurer  of  Cloyne  and  Vicar-General  of  the  diocese. 
He  lived  at  Ballinacurra,  near  Midleton,  in  the  northern  valley 
of  Imokilly.  This  was  a  new  domestic  interest,  and  much  family 
intercourse  naturally  followed  between  Cloyne  and  Ballinacurra. 
Robert  Berkeley,  as  already  mentioned,  was  bom  *  near  Thurles,' 
about  the  end  of  the  seventeeth  century.  He  entered  Trinity 
College^  Dublin,  in  June  1717,  and  became  a  Scholar  in 
1719.  He  was  admitted  Treasurer  of  Cloyne,  and  also  suc- 
ceeded the  Rev.  Walter  Atkin  as  Rector  of  Templenecarrigy  in 
February  1741.     In  June  1742,  he  was  confirmed  Vicar-General  by 


*>  Died,  September  a8,  1741.  Sir  John 
James.  Bart.,  aged  47  {Gtnt.  Mag.).  The 
Editor  of  Monck  Berkeley's  Poems  writes 
as  follows  : — *  I  have  often  been  told  by 
Bishop  Berkeley's  learned,  agreeable  friend, 
Richard  Dalton,  Esq.,  that  his  fnend  Sir 
John  James.  Bart,  told  Bishop  Benson  that 
he  had  bequeathed  his  very  large  estate, 
excepting  a  few  legacies,  to  his  dear  friend 
Bishop  Berkeley.  B«shop  Benson  wrote  what 
he.  lovely  man,  thought  the  pleasant  news  to 


Cloyne,  and  received  in  reply  **  a  thunder- 
ing  letter.*'  as  Mr.  Dalton  called  it,  saying, 
"  Do  you  tell  James  that  I  will  not  have  his 
fortune.  Bid  him  leave  it  to  his  relations. 
I  won't  have  it."  Sir  John,  on  hearing  this, 
bequeathed  it  to  the  old  Chevalier  de  St. 
George — so.  of  course,  his  relations  got  it. 
He  had,  after  Bishop  Berkeley  went  to 
Cloyne,  become  a  Papist.'  {Prefac§  to  Monci 
Berkeliy,  p.  ccccU,  note.) 


I.]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.         28 1 

Chapter.  In  1734,  he  married,  at  Dublin,  Anne  Elizabeth 
rson,  of  the  family  of  Castle  Dawson,  who  died  in  March  1 748, 

whose  tomb,  with  a  Latin  inscription  by  her  husband  (the  only 
luction  of  his  pen  now  remaining  of  which  I  am  aware)  may 
teen  in  Midieton  churchyard.  They  had  four  sons  and  four 
^ters". 

ihc  two  letters  to  Gervais  which  follow  introduce  us  to  the 
dts  of  1742.  Gervais  was  probably  at  Dublin  when  he  wrote. 
ides  allusions  to  tar-water,  they  touch  upon  the  political  changes 
the  time.  The  long  peace  which  the  country  had  enjoyed, 
ost  since  the  accession  of  the  House  of  Brunswick,  was  ended, 

England  was  now  involved  in  the  wars  which  followed  the  ac- 
aon  of  Maria  Theresa  to  the  throne  of  Hungary,  in  which  the 
Bg  Queen  and  Frederick  of  Prussia  were  the  principal  figures- 
Robert  Walpole's  administration  of  more  than  twenty  years, 
rhich  the  peaceful  consolidation  of  the  Hanoverian  dynasty  was 
guiding  policy,  was  about  to  close.    " 

Cloymjm.  la,  1742. 
'oc  forgot  to  mention   your   address ;    else   I  should  have  sooner 
K>w)edged  the  favour  of  your  letter,  for  which  I  am  much  obliged. 
Igh  the  news  it  contained  had  notlung  good  but  the  nianner  of  telling 
1  had  much  rather  write  you  a  letter  of  congratulation  than  of  com- 

and  yei  1  must  needs  tell  you  for  your  comfort,  that  I  apprehend 
-miscarry  by  having  loo  many  friends.     We  often  see  a  man  with  one  • 

at  his  back  pushed  on  and  making  his  way,  while  another  is  em- 
kssed  in  a  crowd  of  well-wishers,     The  best  of  it  is,  your  merits  will 


;n>eM 


of  Cork  in  1 769.  o 
and  died  in  1804.  1.  Joshua,  b 
Dean  o*  Tuim  firm  I781  till 
II  BtiMol  in  1807.  3.  William,  b 
wai  Ikemed  by  hii  Taihci  lo 
f  of  Miillcton  in  ApKI  1771,  I 
■  tccloiaitinl  pieleraicals  in 
p.  a(  Clojnc,  and  died  in  18 
•ben.  died  in  1807  Of  the  I 
Ben.  AnbeUa  manied  the  Right  H 
m  Hamilton.  M.P.  Maiy  »» 
«f  tbe  Re».  Dr.  Francii  Atterbi 
piua  of  CloTne  from  1770  till 
I  in  tSll.  and  grand»n  ol  BisI 
Yffi    and   EllzabFth  and  Anne  n 


:e.bon.i73S.      of  ihe 


'55fi)  ' 


iiidebled  for  the  tight  of  a  Piato 
Filled  to  hit  gTiiKHalhir,  id  1751. 
Bishop  Bttlceley.  The  Plato  (Buil. 
' '  bj 


:   MS.  i 


n  hand.  The  fit.1 
inscribed :  '  This  book  wai  gireo  at  a 
prCKnl  by  the  Rt.  Rev.  George  Berkeley, 
the  Ld.  Bp.  of  Cloyne.  lo  me.  Ihe  Hit  diy 
of  November.  17SI.  George  Berkeley.  Balli- 
nicurra.  County  of  Corke,  Ireland.'  Robert 
Beikcky.  QX-.  Dublin  (who  poueiiM  an 
inleteiling  ponrait  of  Berkeley,  laid  10  have 
t)cen  taken  when  he  wai  in  lialy),  it  aiioihei 
grindton  of  the  Re,  George  Berkeley.  Dr. 
Roben  Beikiley  died  in  Augull  1787.  md 


282 


Life  and  Letters  cf  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


not  be  measured  by  your  success.  It  is  an  old  remark,  that  the  race  is 
not  always  to  the  swift  But  at  present  who  wins  it,  matters  little ;  for 
all  protestant  clergymen  are  like  soon  to  be  at  par,  if  that  old  priest'', 
your  countryman,  continues  to  carry  on  his  schemes  with  the  same  pdicy 
and  success  he  has  hitherto  done.  The  accounts  you  send  agree  with 
what  I  hear  from  other  parts ;  they  are  all  alike  dismal.  Reserve  your- 
self, however,  for  future  times,  and  mind  the  main  chance.  I  would  say, 
shun  late  hours,  drink  tar-water,  and  bring  back  (I  wish  a  good  deanery, 
but  at  least)  a  good  stock  of  health  and  spirits  to  grace  our  little  parties 
in  Imokilly",  where  we  hope,  ere  it  be  long,  to  see  you  and  the  sun 


**  Cardinal  Flcury,  who  was  prime 
minister  of  France  from  1726  till  he  died, 
in  January  1743,  in  bis  90th  year.  He  ruled 
France  while  Walpole  ruled  England,  both 
of  them  in  the  interest  of  peace. 

"  I  have  DO  actual  picture  of  those  *  little 
parties'  as  they  were  in  Berkeley's  time, 
hut  I  have  now  before  me  a  distinct  one 
of  very  similar  social  ongoings  at  and  around 
Cloyne,  about  twenty  years  after  Berkeley's 
death,  in  the  form  of  a  daily  MS.  Diary  for 
the  year  1773,  kept  at  Ballinacurfji  by  the 
Rev.  William  Berkeley,  curate  of  Midleton, 
mentioned  in  the  note  before  the  last.  The 
Diary  contains  a  careful  daily  register  of 
the  weather  in  the  neighbourhood  ot  Cloyne, 
and  anecdotes  of  the  fiimilies  in  Imokilly 
(those  whom  Bishop  Berkeley  was  in  the 
v.'iy  of  visiting,  and  being  visited  by,)  and 
their  little  parties — the  Inchiquins,  Shannons, 
Longfields,  Lumleys,  Fitzgeralds,  Ha3niians, 
Bcrkeleys  of  Ballinacurra,  &c.  I  venture  to 
offer  a  few  extracts  taken  at  random  : — 

*Jan.  1st.  At  home  busy  at  a  sermon. 
Mary  and  Betty  [his  sisters]  at  Aghada 
[Dr.  Atterbury'sJ.  4th.  Out  shooting  with 
J.  Hnnning  at  Castle  Mary.  6th.  Set  out 
for  Lismore  at  half  past  lO  a  m. — the 
<^ay  remarkably  fine  and  clear.  [Then  an 
account  of  the  visit  to  Lismore,  on  that 
and  the  following  days.]  9th.  Set  out 
in  the  little  chaise  between  9  and  10,  and 
got  to  Cork  quarter  before  1 1 — finished 
my  business  and  left  by  2  [for  Ballinacurra] . 
loth.  Large  congregation  at  church.  Heard 
from  Stock  [afterwards  Bishop  Stock].  Feb. 
2nd.  Lord  Inchiquin  dangerously  ill.  4th. 
Dined  at  Cloyne  with  the  Registrar  [Han- 
ning].  lOth.  Dined  at  Lord  Shannon's,  where 
we  met  Atterbury,  Mary,  Julia,  Mrs.  Pigot, 
&c.  18th.  Out  sailing  in  a  new  boat  with 
Wat.  Hayman.     Nancy  and  Julia  came  to 


dinner  from  Castlemartyr.  18th.  Dined  at 
Mocklers,  where  we  met  the  Bishop', 
Bushe,  Kingston,  &c.  19th.  Dined  at  the 
Bishop  of  Clojme's — wind  Tery  high  going 
there.  26th.  Dined  at  Castle  Mary,  where 
were  Mr.  Lumley  [Ballimaloc],  Mr.  Lawless, 
&c.  27th.  This  day  eleTen  years  taken 
prisoner  by  the  French.  28th.  Mrs.  Daw- 
son and  her  dAughters  went  to  Cloyne 
Church.  Lambert  preached  for  me  at 
Midleton.  March  ist.  We  heard  of  poor 
Capt.  Rogge's  having  had  an  attack  of 
apoplexy.  2nd.  Dined  at  Ballymaloe.  7th. 
Yesterday  sent  down  the  yawl  to  look  for 
the  vessel  in  which  George  [his  brother]  it 
coming  [from  England],  but  without  suc- 
cess. 9th.  Sent  down  the  boat  to  Cove  to 
enquire  whether  the  vessel  be  c<Mne.  About 
2  p.m.  the  boat  returned  with  George.  He 
arrived  in  the  harbour  at  5  a jn ,  having 
sailed  from  Bristol  on  Saturday  [this  was 
written  on  Tuesday]  about  9  o'clock,  and 
had  a  most  agreeable  passage.  10th.  The 
Bishop  dined  here.  T5th.  Rode  to  Bally- 
maloe and  met  Mr.  Longfield  hunting  with 
J.  Hauning,  &c.  Met  Mr.  Lumley  aixl 
Mr.  Brcviter  on  Clojme  hill.  1 7th.  George 
read  prayers  for  me  at  Midleton.  All  dined 
at  Rostellan.  Mrs.  Longfield,  Miss  Uniake. 
and  the  Bishop  of  Cloyne  there.  28tb. 
Dined  at  the  Bishop's.  30th.  Heard  frao 
Stock — a  farewell  letter  on  his  setting  out 
to  take  the  grand  tour.  31st.  Atteibiiry 
and  Mary  here.  The  Bishop  of  Cloyne 
dined  here.  Aprd  8th.'  Went  in  the  morn- 
ing to  Cloyne  to  the  Bishop's  Court  We 
all  dined  at  the  Bishop's.  Grand  Concert 
9th.  My  father  [Dr.  Robert  Berkeley]  went 
to  Castle  Mary  after  we  came  from  chuidu 
loth.  Set  out  about  7  a.m.  for  Cork,  and 
got  there  to  breakfast,  returning  throa|^ 
Blarney,   and    dined    at    Glanmire.      T^ 


*  Charles  Agar,  DJD.,  was  Bishop  of 
Cloyne,  1768-79,  when  he  was  translated 
to  Cashel,  and  in  1801  to  Dublin.     He  was 


created  Baron  Somerton  in  1 795,  and  Eail 
of  Normanton  in  1806. 


med  together.  My  wife,  who  values  hcrscir  on  being  in  the  number 
>ur  friends,  is  extremely  obliged  for  the  Italian  psalms  you  have  pro- 
d,  and  desires  me  to  tell  you,  that  the  more  you  can  procure,  the 
B  she  shall  be  obliged.  We  join  in  wishing  you  many  happy  new 
■.  heakh,  and  success. 


Clo^-nc,  Feb,  : 


.742. 


poxi>OLe  with  you  on  your  cold,  a  circiimstiince  that  a  man  of  fashion 
kcep»  late  hours  can  hardly  escape.  We  lind  here  that  a  spoonful, 
lar  and  half  honey,  taken  morning,  noon,  and  night,  proves  a  most 

xoal  remedy  in  that  case.     My  wife,  who  values  herself  on  being  in 

lime  afttrwirdi  toje  wilh  Mr.  Lumley  lo 

sec  Mr.  Longficlit'i  blecch  gceen  ind  milli. 

Jvlj  ind.  Nancy,   AniubcUi.   and   I  wen) 

(o   Clojnc  [hii   evening.     The    concerl  Is 

ntuil.     Lidy  ShiuuQu,    Mrs.  ITniake,  Col. 

nmt.       Sindford,  CipL  Moore,  two  Bob  Uniikei, 

The       ind   all    the   tinging   men   there.      We    ill 

ihe       jlayed    lo   lupper.      aand.   The  Biihop  of 

The  ten  tiiiwd  ii  Roi-      Cloyoe.   Lorf   and    Lady   Inchiqtiin.    Mr, 


»r  [hU  fjthet]  diiled  al  Chiniiery'i. 
I.nnl  and  Lady  Inchiquia.  Captain 
ic.  Mid  Bnllea  dined  here.     1  went  in 

t  were  Lofd  and  Lidjr  Shannon.  Mary. 

^uij,  and  Annalicli.  and  al]  the    '    * 

,    Dined    al    Lord    Shannon't. 

P  "»«"■     '9* 

pV      I, ode.     T 

1^  befnn  they  went.     Met  Lady  Shan- 

Alttrbary.  &c.  No  mniic.  13rd. 
I  in  the  eveniug  to  the  Biihop'i  lo  the 
V.  where  wetc  all  the  choir.  [There 
I  lo  have  been  a  weekly  concerl  at  the 
■^i,]  Hay  r^.  Dined  at  theBiihop'i. 
filher,  &c..  called  at  Cutlemaityi  on 
way.  I  went  directly  to  Cloyne.  Mr. 
tin,  Uniake  dined  there.  I.ord  and  Lady 
^  came  in  the  e'eding  to  the  coiicctI. 
|»ed  home  aboni  10.30,  clear  «ai  light. 
,  The  Biibop  or  Cloyne,  Major  and 
FoUiiTll,  Mr.  and  Mn.Mocklei,  and  R. 
be  dined  here.  iglh.  Seni  Faddy  for 
bnn  lo  Cattle  Mary.  ml.  Captain 
[e  dined  here.  30th.  (Sunday)  On  our 
t  from  chorch  orettook  Mr.  Lum- 
■4u>  inroimcd  lu  of  the  arrival  of  Ihe 
Ido  Eail  lndinRuKi  in  Cork  Harbour 
Fdajr  afternoon.  He  and  I  agreed  to  go 
tor^het  lo^raonow.  3111.  Set  out  in 
Hal  fta  the  Indiamao  at»ut  lo  am. 
tMia  Lamlej  and  FolUoit.  Took  in 
ming  al  Ooold'i  Poini.  Van  CTOwdi 
■pie.     I}in(^d  at  Cove.    >«  lit.  Went 

the  Doctor  lo  cbnich  and  a  leitry 
rwda.  Mr.  Lnmley  dined  here.  md. 
I  to  Ballyeattin  and  returned  through 
\tc.  17*.  Captain  and  Mr»,  Rugge, 
It.  Uniake  drank  lea  here.  15th. 
i  10  fee  *Liorkd  and  Claritta'  perfarmcd 

(el  of  itralling  playert  who  did  totei- 
wtB.  l8lh.  J.  Hanning  called  here. 
ode    with    George   and    I   to   Goyiic. 


Bnllen.  and   Capt,  Moo 
drank  lei  in  Ihe  pavilion.' 

Aud  so  on  llirongh  the  nimmei  of  1 773. 
I  might  fill  many  pagnwilhiimiliiextncli. 
In  Uclober  the  InuJcilly  ramiliet  move  to 
Dublin.  Un  the  5th  the  Bithop  goei  there, 
and  on  Ihe  7Ih  Lord  and  Lady  Inchjijutn.  fol- 
lowed by  the  Longfieldi  on  the  8th,  and  after- 
wardi  by  Lord  and  Lady  Shannon.  The 
Bithop'l  Court  it  held  at  Dr.  R.  Berkeley 't,  at 
BallinacuTTa,  in  the  winter  alMcnce.  In  early 
winier  the  country  wai  dull  and  rainy,  but 
wme  iliooling  with  J.  Manning  now  and 
then  on  the  hill  at  Cattle  Miry,  or  above 
Cloyiie.  or  on  the  Common,  and  occasional 
viiiis  10  Atlerbury'i,  dinnen  at  Ballymaloe. 
or  Corkbcg.  or  al  Shanagary,  and  viiili  to 
Mocklcr,  Brtviler,  and  Stopfbrd,  ptebcnd- 
atiea,  or  ncars-choral.  al  Qoyne,  and  to 
Liimore.  helped  to  enliven  life  in  that  re- 
mole  region.  The  '  Doctor'  wat  oflen  at 
Mr,  Hanning's  at  Cloyne.  Towards  the 
end  of  December  '  moti  dreary,  gloomy,  dit- 
mil  weather,  and  great  floodi  in  the  Black- 


.    Suir. 


1    Nori 


'Mr.  1 


I   Mrs. 


Follintt  and  J.  Kanning  here— played  caidt 
in  the  evening.'  '  Mi.  Kallerfelio.  the  etec- 
Irician,  came  from  Midlcton  and  exhibited,' 
On  another  day  '  the  Major  went  lo  Per. 
moy.'  The  Diary  endt  when  ihc  writer 
himielf  goei  to  Dnblin.  with  Mr.  Longfidd  of 
Caslle  Mary  at  his  travelling  companion. 

For  the  nae  of  Ihll  inleintiiig  Diary,  1  am 
indebled  to  Dr.  Thomas  Wite,  of  London. 
who  lived  for  some  vein  al  Roatellau  CatlU:. 


284  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

your  good  graces,  expresses  great  gratitude  for  your  care  in  procuring 
the  psalms,  and  is  doubly  pleased  with  the  prospeet  of  your  being  your- 
self the  bearer.  The  instrument  she  desired  to  be  provided  was  a  lai^ge 
four-stringed  bass  violin :  but,  besides  this,  we  shall  also  be  extremdy 
glad  to  get  that  excellent  bass  viol  which  came  from  France,  be  the 
number  of  strings  what  it  will,  I  wrote  indeed  (not  to  overload  you)  to 
Dean  Bro^-ne^  to  look  out  for  a  six-stringed  bass  viol  of  an  old  make  and 
mellow  tone.  But  the  more  we  have  of  good  instruments,  the  better ;  for 
I  have  got  an  excellent  master,  whom  I  have  taken  into  my  family,  and  all 
my  children,  not  excepting  my  little  daughter,  learn  to  play,  and  are  pre- 
paring to  fill  my  house  with  harmony  against  all  events :  that  if  we  have 
worse  times,  we  may  have  better  spirits.  Our  French  woman  is  grown 
more  attentive  to  her  business,  and  so  much  altered  for  the  better,  that 
my  wife  is  not  now  inclined  to  part  with  her,  but  is  nevertheless  very 
sensibly  obliged  by  your  kind  offer  to  look  out  for  another.  What  you 
say  of  a  certain  pamphlet  is  enigmatical ;  I  shall  hope  to  have  it  explained 
viva  voce. 

As  this  comer  furnishes  nothing  worth  sending,  you  will  pardon  me  if, 
instead  of  other  news,  I  transcribe  a  paragraph  of  a  letter  I  lately  received 
from  an  English  bishop.  *  We  are  now  shortly  to  meet  again  in  par- 
liament, and  by  the  proceedings  upon  the  state  of  the  nation  Sir  Robert's 
fate  will  be  determined.  He  is  doing  all  he  can  to  recover  a  majority  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  is  said  to  have  succeeded  as  to  some  par- 
ticulars. But  in  his  main  attempt,  which  was  that  of  uniting  the  Prince 
and  his  court  to  the  King's,  he  has  been  foiled.  The  bishop  of  Oxford 
was  employed  to  carry  the  proposal  to  the  Prince,  which  was,  that  he 
should  have  the  £100,000  a  year  he  had  demanded,  and  his  debts  paid 
But  the  Prince,  at  the  same  time  that  he  expressed  the  utmost  respect  and 
duty  to  his  Majesty,  declared  so  much  dislike  to  his  Minister,  that  with- 
out his  removal  he  will  hearken  to  no  terms  '*.'  I  have  also  had  another 
piece  in  the  following  words,  which  is  very  agreeable.  *  Lady  Dorothy, 
whose  good  temper  seems  as  great  as  her  beauty,  and  who  has  gained 
on  every  one  by  her  behaviour  in  these  most  unhappy  circumstances,  is 
said  at  last  to  have  gained  over  Lord  Euston  **,  and  to  have  entirely  won 
his  affection.' 

**  Jemmct  Browne,  D.D.,  bom  at  Cork  in  •*  On  the  assembling  of  Parliament,  in 

1702,  Dean  of  Ross,  1733;  Bishop  of  Kil-  December  l74l,Walpole  was  in  a  minority, 

laloe,  1743.     In  1745  he  was  translated  to  After  an  attempt  to  recover,  he  resigned 

Cork,  where  he  was  for  several  years  Berkc-  on  the  nth  of  February,  and  was  created 

ley's   friend    and   neighbour.     In    1772  he  Earl  of  Orford.     He  died  in  1745. 

was  moved  from  Cork  to  Elphin,  and  in  1 775  ^  George  Earl  of  Euston,  eldest  son  of  the 

he  was  made  Archbishop  of  Tuam.    He  was  second  Duke  of  Grafion,  this  year  married 

buried  at  Cork  in  1782.     It  is  said  he  was  Dorothy,  eldest   daughter   of  the   Earl  of 

a  nephew  of  Bishop  Peter  Browne.  Burlington — Berkeley  s  former  patron. 


III.]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloync.         285 

1  find  bv  your  letter,  the  reigrning  distemper  at  the  Irish  Court  is  dis- 
^pointinenL  A  man  of  less  spirits  and  alacrity  would  be  apt  to  cry  out, 
€l  forluna  valcte,  &c.,  but  my  advice  is,  never  to  quit  your  hopes. 
lope  is  often  better  than  enjoyment.     Hope  is  often  the  cause  as  well 

ihe  effect  of  youth.  It  is  certainly  a  very  pleasant  and  healthy  passion. 
;  hopeless  person  is  descried  by  himself;  and  he  who  forsakes  himself 

soon  forsaken  by  friends  and  fortune,  both  which  are  sincerely  wished 
m  by,  Ac. 

Id  the  same  month  the  letter  which  follows  was  sent  to  Prior  at 
Dublin-.— 

Cli^fif,  Ftb.  16,  1741 — 1. 

Dear  Tom, 

I  BEUBVK  there  is  no  relation  that  Mr.  Sandys  and  Sir  John  Rushout 

l»ve  lo  Lord  Wilmington  other  than  wh^  I  myself  made  by  marrying 

Br  John  Rushout's  sister  to  the  late  Earl  of  Northampton,  who  was 

brother  to  Lord  Wilmington  ".     Sandys  is  nephew  to  Sir  John.     As  to 

iindred  or  affinity,  I  lake  it  lo  have  very  little  share  in  this  mailer ;  nor 

Id  I  think  it  possible  to  forelel  whether  the  ministry  will  be  whig  or  tory. 

pte  people  are  so  generally  and  so  much  incensed,  that  (if  I  am  rightly 

hibrmed)  both  men  and  measures  must  be  changed  before  we  see  things 

Booposed.     Besides,  in  this  disjointed  stale  of  things,  the  Prince's  party 

iriD  be  more  considered  than  ever.     It  is  my  opinion  there  will  be  no 

|m  minisier  in  haste  ;  and  it  will  be  new  to  act  without  one.     When  I 

bd  wrote  thus  far,  I  received  a  letter  from  a  considerable  hand  on  the 

Bfter  side  the  water,  wherein  are  the  following  words :    '  Though  the 

riugs  and  tories  had  gone  had  in  hand  in  their  endeavours  to  demolish 

laie  ministry,  yet  some  true  whigs,  to  shew  themselves  such,  were  for 

tdudtng  all  tories  from  the  new  minisUy.     Lord  Wilmington  and  Duke 

Dorset  declared  they  would  quit  if  they  proceeded  on  so  narrow  a 

Qom ;  and  the  Prince,  Duke  of  Argyle,  Duke  of  Bedford,  and  many 

lers,  refused  10  come  in.  except  there  was  to  be  a  coalition  of  parlies. 

Ifter  many  fruitless  attempts  to  effect  this,  it  was  at  last  achieved  between 

tt«n  and  twelve  on  Tuesday  night ;  and  the  Prince  went  next  morning 

Si.  James's.     It  had  been  thai  very  evening  quite  despaired  of;  and 

e  meeting  of  the  parliament  came  in  so  fast,  that  there  was  a  prospect 

ootfaing  but  great  confusion.'  There  is,  I  hope,  a  prospect  now  of  much 


I  *  Amw.  liitef  of  Ocorge.  rounh  Eirl  of 
dumpton.  nianieil  tif  John  Ruihoul, 
L,  faiber  of  tlie  eighth  Baton  Nonhwick. 
d  NooJumpton  died  in  lya;.  Hii  bto- 
t  emled  E«rl  of  Wilminpon,  »nd 


17^3.      (Thn, 


citj't  letter.)     Mt.  Smd^i 


286  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

'better  things.  I  much  wanted  to  see  this  scheme  prevail,  which  it  has 
now  done ;  and  will,  I  trust,  be  followed  by  many  happy  consequences. 
We  are  all  yours.    Adieu.     Your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

G.  CLOYNE. 

You  say  that  Swift,  &c.,  acquainted  me  by  letter  of  their  receipt  of 
Purcel's  bill ;  but  I  have  got  no  such  letter. 

In  March  we  have  the  following  letter  toGervais,  which  exhausts 

the  epistolary  material  of  1742 : — 

[Clqyne],  March  5,  1742. 

Your  last  letter,  containing  an  account  of  the  Queen  of  Hungary  and 
her  affairs,  was  all  over  agreeable.  My  wife  and  I  are  not  a  little  pleased 
to  find  her  situation  so  much  better  than  we  expected,  and  gready 
applaud  your  zeal  for  her  injterests,  though  we  are  divided  upon  the 
motive  of  it.  She  imagines  you  woiUd  be  less  zealous  were  the  Queen 
old  and  ugly ;  and  will  have  it  that  her  beauty  has  set  you  on  fire  even 
at  this  distance.  I,  on  the  contrary,  afl^rm,  that  you  are  not  made  of 
such  combustible  stuff ;  that  you  are  affected  only  by  the  love  of  justice, 
and  insensible  to  all  other  flames  than  those  of  patriotism.  We  hope 
soon  for  your  presence  at  Cloyne  to  put  an  end  to  this  controversy. 

Your  care  in  providing  the  Italian  psalms  set  to  music,  the  four-stringed 
bass  violin,  and  the  antique  bass  viol,  require  our  repeated  thanks.  We 
have  already  a  bass  viol  made  in  Southwark,  A.D.  1730,  and  reputed 
the  best  in  England.  And  through  your  means  we  are  possessed  of  the 
best  in  France.  So  we  have  a  fair  chance  for  having  the  two  best  in 
Europe. 

Your  letter  gives  me  hopes  of  a  new  and  prosperous  scene.  We  live 
in  an  age  of  revolutions  so  sudden  and  surprising  in  all  parts  of  Europe, 
that  I  question  whether  the  like  has  been  ever  known  before.  Hands  are 
changed  at  home  " :  it  is  well  if  measures  are  so  too.  If  not,  I  shall  be 
afraid  of  this  change  of  hands ;  for  hungry  dogs  bite  deepest.  But  let 
those  in  power  look  to  this.  We  behold  these  vicissitudes  with  an 
equal  eye  from  the  serene  corner  of  Cloyne,  where  we  hope  soon  to  have 
the  perusal  of  your  budget  of  politics.  Mean  time  accept  our  service  and 
good  wishes. 

A  letter  from  the  Bishop  of  Gloucester  ^^  reflects  some  light  upon 
Berkeley  in  the  spring  of  1743,  and  refers  to  ecclesiastical  arrange- 
ments they  were  both  interested  in:  — 

**  The  Wilmington  Administration  was  now  in  power.  *  Btrkdty  Papers^ 


viii.}      Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.        287 

Beny  Street^  Wesiminsier, 

April  2^,  1743. 
My  Dear  Lord, 

I  DID  not  come  up  to  attend  the  Session  till  it  was  half  over,  and  it 
being  now  at  an  end,  I  am  hastening  to  quit  the  town  and  return  to  my 
Diocese.  Though  I  came  up  late,  yet,  when  I  was  here,  I  thought  I 
was  come  up  too  soon,  finding  some  points  so  doubtful  that  I  did  not 
know  how  to  vote  at  all,  and  others  so  clear  that  I  was  grieved  to  be 
under  a  necessity  of  voting  against  the  measures  of  men  with  whom  I 
have  had  a  good  deal  of  acquaintance,  and  of  whom,  when  out  of  place, 
I  had  a  good  opinion.  But  it  was  measures  and  not  ministers  I  desired 
to  see  changed.  And  as  I  have  now  little  hope  of  ever  seeing  the  for- 
mer, I  have  less  concern  about  the  latter.  The  taking  the  Hanover 
troops  into  English  pay,  if  it  was  right  in  regard  to  our  foreign  affairs, 
was  certainly  very  unpolitic  in  regard  to  our  domestic  ones ;  and  there  is 
nothing  but  the  necessity  which  is  pretended  which  can  in  any  degree 
excuse  an  action,  which  it  could  not  but  be  foreseen  must  occasion  so 
much  jealousy,  and  which  it  is  too  plainly  seen  has  occasioned  not  only 
a  dislike  of  Ministers,  but  some  share  of  disloyalty  even  to  the  Throne 
itself.  If  this  step  were  allowed  to  be  in  reality  as  necessary,  as  some 
have  pleaded  it  to  be,  yet  there  cannot  be  the  same  plea  of  necessity  for 
an  action  which  much  more  wanted  it,  and  that  is  the  method  of  raising 
the  sum  to  defray  the  expense  of  this  measure.  There  was,  I  thought, 
an  absolute  necessity  of  doing  something  to  prevent  the  drinking  of  that 
poison  which  is  called  gin,  but,  unhappily,  the  increasing  of  the  vice  was 
found  to  be  a  way  to  increase  the  revenue ;  and  this  is  the  fund  chosen 
to  borrow  the  millions  wanted  upon.  It  passed  pretty  quietly  through 
the  House  of  Commons,  but  the  Lords  opposed  the  Bill  in  every  step  of 
its  progress;  and  the  whole  Bench  of  Bishops  who  were  present  not 
only  voted,  but  most  of  them  also  protested  against  it. 

As  to  the  appointing  of  Rural  Deans,  your  Lordship  must  know  that 
all  our  Dioceses  here  are  divided  into  Archdeaconries,  and  every  Arch- 
deaconry into  so  many  Deaneries.  In  many  Dioceses,  Rural  Deans  are 
still  nominally  appointed,  though  in  few  they  exercise  any  kind  of  juris- 
diction. My  Diocese  consists  but  of  one  Archdeaconry,  and  the  Arch- 
deacon was,  when  I  came  into  it,  near  90  years  old ;  so  that  if  he  were 
willing,  he  was  incapable  to  do  much  duty ;  and  wliile  he  was  capable,  I 
found  he  had  scarcely  ever  done  any.  So  that  upon  account  both  of  his 
present  infirmity  and  past  neglect,  there  was  great  want  in  the  Diocese 
of  somebody  to  assist  both  him  and  me  in  relation  to  the  duties  which 
are  reckoned  more  peculiarly  incumbent  upon  the  Archdeacon.     One  of 


288  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkel^.  .  [ch. 

these  is  to  visit  parochially  all  the  churches,  chapels,  and  houses  of 
incumbents  within  his  district  This  afforded  me  a  fair  handle  for  sq>- 
pointing  Deans  Rural  to  perform  this  work,  and  I  shall  send  you  a  copy 
of  the  commission  I  have  given  to  them.  This  I  thought  could  not  be 
reckoned  improper  in  this  kingdom  where  this  was  the  ancient  and  is  sdll 
the  regular  form  of  government  in  each  Diocese.  But  in  Ireland,  per- 
haps, it  may  be  a  thing  quite  new,  and  your  beginning  it  may  give  offence 
both  to  the  rest  of  the  Bishops  and  to  the  Archdeacons,  and  also  to  the 
inferior  clergy. 

Your  most  faithful  servant  and  affectionate  brother, 

M.  GLOCESTER. 

Bishop  Benson  was  an  active  restorer  of  the  powers  of  Deans 
Rural  in  his  own  diocese  of  Gloucester,  although  he  does  not 
encourage  his  friend  to  follow  his  example  at  Cloyne.  The  office 
of  Rural  Dean  does  not  seem  to  have  been  at  any  time  coihroon  in 
Ireland.  Berkeley  was  one  of  the  few  Irish  bishops  who,  in  last 
century,  attempted  to  revive  the  office.  According  to  Harris,  the 
diocese  of  Cloyne  was  formerly  divided  into  five  rural  deaneries, 
but  in  Berkeley's  time  there  were  only  four*^. 

Two  scraps  to  Gervais,  in  the  autumn  of  1743,  afford  us 
our  only  other  glimpses  of  Berkeley  in  that  year.  One  of  them 
alludes  to  his  friend's  promotion  to  the  Deanery  of  Tuam,  which 
took  place  at  this  time : — 

\Clqyne\  September  6,  1743. 

The  book  which  you  were  so  good  as  to  procure  for  me  (and  which 
I  shall  not  pay  for  till  you  come  to  receive  the  money  in  person)  con- 
tains all  that  part  of  Dr.  Pococke's  travels**  for  which  I  have  any  curiosity; 
so  I  shall,  with  my  thanks  for  this,  give  you  no  fiuther  trouble  about  any 
other  volume. 

I  find  by  the  letter  put  into  my  hands  by  your  son  (who  was  so  kind 
as  to  call  here  yesterday,  but  not  kind  enough  to  stay  a  night  with  us), 
that  you  are  taken  up  with  great  matters,  and,  like  other  great  men,  in 
danger  of  overlooking  your  friends.  Prepare,  however,  for  a  world  of 
abuse,  both  as  a  courtier  and  an  architect,  if  you  do  not  find  means  to 

«  See  Harris's  Ware.     In  Danscy's  Horct  "  TroveU  in  tht  Holy  Land,  by  Richard 

Deeaniea  Rurales  (1835),  Bishop  Benson's  Pocockc,  D.D..  appeared  in  1743 — 45.    Po- 

letter  of  commission  to  those  nominated  rural  cocke  was  afterwards  Bishop  of  Ossory. 
deans  in  the  diocese  of  Gloucester  is  given. 


I.]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.         2S9 

Ige  in  a  visit  lo  Clojne  between  those  two  grand  concerns.    Courtiers 

I  will  find  none  here,  and  but  such  virtuosi  as  the  country  affords ; 

mean  in  the  way  or  music,  for  that  is  at  present  the  reigning  passion  at 

oyne.     To  be  plain,  we  are  musically  mad.     If  you  would  know  what 

II  is,  come  and  see. 

\Cl(yni\,  October  it),  1743. 
A  Bran  of  llie  air  has  told  me  that  your  reverence  is  to  be  dean  of 
fuam.  No  nightingale  could  have  sung  a  more  pleasing  song,  not  even 
y  wife,  who,  I  am  told,  is  this  day  inferior  to  no  singer  in  the  kingdom, 
promise  you  we  are  preparing  no  contemptible  chorus  to  celebrate 
mr  preferment :  and  if  you  do  not  believe  me,  come  this  Christmas, 
id  believe  your  own  ears.  In  good  earnest,  none  of  your  friends  will 
t  better  pleased  to  see  you  with  your  broad  seal  in  your  pocket  than 
lor  friends  at  Cloyne,  I  wish  I  were  able  to  wish  you  joy  at  Dublin  ; 
n  my  health,  though  not  a  little  mended,  suffers  me  to  make  no 

farther  than  a  mile  or  two. 
What  is  this  your  favourite,  the  Queen  of  Hungary,  has  been  doing 
qr  her  emissaries  at  Fetersburgh  ?    France  is  again  upon  her  legs.     I 
bresee  no  good.     1  wish  all  this  may  be  vapour  and  spleen :  but  I  write 
nin-shine. 

The  following  letters  to  Dean   Gervais,  with   some   political 
gossip  as  usual,  introduce  us  to  Cloyne  in  1744: — 

[Cliyne],  January  8,  1744. 
Yon  have  obliged  the  ladies  as  well  as  myself  by  your  candid  judg- 
ent  on  the  points  submitted  lo  your  determination.  I  am  glad  this 
jDatter  proved  an  amusement  in  your  gout,  by  bringing  you  acqu^nted 
«hh  several  curious  and  select  trials  *' ;  which  1  should  readily  purchase, 
ud  accept  your  kind  offer  of  procuring  them,  if  I  did  not  apprehend 
there  might  be  some  among  them  of  too  delicate  a  nature  lo  be  read  by 
loya  and  girls,  to  whom  my  library,  and  particularly  all  French  books, 
'pK  open. 

Aa  to  foreign  affairs,  we  cannot  descry  or  prognosticate  any  good 

ent  from   this  remote  comer.     The  planets  that  seemed  propitious 

c  now  retrograde :  Russia,  Sweden,  and  Prussia  lost :  and  the  Dutch  a 

Bominal  ally  at  best.     You  may  now  admire  the  Queen  of  Hungary 

Wtbout  a  rival :  her  conduct  with  respect  to  the  Czarina  and  the  Marquis 

■  The  work  eniititd  Caisa  Cclibrit,  an  edition  of  which  appeind  ihoitly  befoie  liiii. 


ago  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ciL 

de  Botta  hath,  I  fear,  rendered  cold  the  hearts  of  her  friends,  and  their 
hands  feeble.  To  be  plain,  from  this  time  forward  I  doubt  we  shafl 
languish,  and  our  enemies  take  heart  And  while  I  am  thus  perplexed 
about  foreign  affairs,  my  private  economy  (I  mean  the  animal  economy) 
is  disordered  by  the  sciatica ;  an  evil  which  has  attended  me  for  smne 
time  past ;  and  I  apprehend  will  not  leave  me  till  the  return  of  the  son. 
Certainly  the  news  that  I  want  to  hear  at  present  is  not  from  Rome,  ox 
Paris,  or  Vienna,  but  from  Dublin ;  viz.,  when  the  Dean  of  Tuam  is 
declared,  and  when  he  receives  the  congratulations  of  his  friends.  I  con- 
stantly read  the  news  from  Dublin ;  but  lest  I  should  overlook  this  article, 
I  take  upon  me  to  congratulate  you  at  this  moment ;  that  as  my  good 
wishes  were  not,  so  my  compliments  may  not  be  behind  those  of  your 
other  friends. 

You  have  entertained  me  with  so  many  curious  things  that  I  would 
fain  send  something  in  return  worth  reading.  But,  as  this  quarter 
affords  nothing  from  itself,  I  must  'be  obliged  to  transcribe  a  bit  of 
an  English  letter  that  I  received  last  week.  It  relates  to  what  is  now 
the  subject  of  public  attention,  the  Hanover  troops,  and  is  as  follows  :— 
*  General  Campbell  (a  thorough  courtier)  being  called  upon  in  the  House 
of  Commons  to  give  an  account  whether  he  had  not  observed  some 
instances  of  partiality,  replied,  he  could  not  say  he  had:  but  this  he 
would  say,  that  he  thought  the  forces  of  the  two  nations  could  never 
draw  together  again.  This,  coming  from  the  mouth  of  a  courtier,  was 
looked  upon  as  an  ample  confession :  however,  it  was  carried  against  the 
address  by  a  large  majority.  Had  the  question  been  whether  the  Han- 
over troops  should  be  continued,  it  would  not  have  been  a  debate :  but, 
it  being  well  known  that  the  contrary  had  been  resolved  upon  before  the 
meeting  of  parliament,  the  moderate  part  of  the  opposition  thought  it  was 
unnecessary,  and  might  prove  hurtful  to  address  about  it,  and  so  voted 
with  the  court.'  You  see  how  I  am  forced  to  lengthen  out  my  letter  by 
adding  a  borrowed  scrap  of  news,  which  yet  probably  is  no  news  to  yoa 
But,  though  I  should  shew  you  nothing  new,  yet  you  must  give  me  leave 
to  shew  my  inclination  at  least  to  acquit  myself  of  the  debts  I  owe  you, 
and  to  declare  myself,  &c 


Clqyne,  March  i6,  1744. 

I  THINK  myself  a  piece  of  a  prophet  when  I  foretold  that  the  Pre- 
tender's Cardinal  feigned  to  aim  at  your  head,  when  he  meant  to  strike 
you,  like  a  skilful  fencer,  on  the  ribs.  It  is  true,  one  would  hardly  think 
the  French  such  bunglers :  but  this  popish  priest  hath  manifestly  bungled 


HI.]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.         291 

9  as  to  repair  ihe  breaches  our  own  bunglers  had  made  at  home.  This 
i  the  luckiest  ihing  that  could  have  happened,  and  will,  I  hope,  confound 
II  the  measureB  of  our  enemies.  I  was  much  obliged  and  delighted 
lith  the  good  news  you  lately  sent,  which  was  yesterday  confirmed  by 
ttieis  from  Dublin.  And  though  pardculars  are  not  yet  known,  I  did 
think  fit  to  delay  our  public  marks  of  joy,  as  a  great  bonfire  before 
gate,  firing  of  guns,  drinking  of  healths,  &c.  I  was  very  glad  of  this 
jpponunity  to  put  a  little  spirit  into  oiu-  drooping  Protestants  of  Cloj-ne, 
vbo  have  of  late  conceived  no  small  fears  on  seeing  themselves  in  such 

defenceless  condition  among  so  great  a  number  of  Papists  elated  with 
K  fame  of  these  new  enterprises  in  their  favour,  It  is  indeed  terrible  to 
^ect,  that  we  have  neither  arms  nor  militia  in  a  province  where  the 
I^pists  are  eight  to  one,  and  have  an  earlier  intelligence  than  we  have  of 
(hat  passes:  by  what  means  I  know  not;  but  the  fact  is  certainly  true. 

Good  Mr.  Dean  (for  Dean  I  will  call  you,  resolving  not  to  be  behind 
lour  CHends  in  Dublin),  you  must  know'  that  to  us  who  live  in  this 
Cmole  comer  many  things  seem  strange  and  unaccountable  that  may  be 
■olved  by  you  who  are  near  the  fountain  head.  Why  are  draughts  made 
our  forces  when  we  most  want  them  ?  Why  are  not  the  militia 
Urayed?    How  comes  it  to  pass  that  arms  are  not  put  into  the  hands  of 

'OteEtants,  especially  since  they  have  been  so  long  paid  for  ?    Did  not 

IT  ministers  know  for  a  long  time  past  that  a  squadron  was  forming  at 
Brest  ?  WTiy  did  ihey  not  then  bruise  the  cockatrice  in  the  egg  f  Would 
lot  the  French  works  at  Dunkirk  have  justified  this  step  ?  Why  was  Sir 
fohn  Norris"  called  off  from  the  chase  when  he  had  his  enemies  in  full 
^w,  and  was  even  at  their  heels  with  a  superior  force  ?    As  we  have 

o  btmdred  and  forty  men-of-war,  whereof  one  hundred  and  twenty  are 

the  line,  how  comes  it  thai  we  did  not  appoint  a  squadron  to  watch 
nd  intercept  the  Spanish  Admiral  with  his  thirty  millions  of  pieces  of 

;ht  ?  In  an  age  wherein  articles  of  religious  faith  are  canvassed  with 
(be  utmost  freedom,  we  think  it  lawful  to  propose  these  scruples  in  our 

iljtical  faith,  which  in  many  points  wants  to  be  enlightened  and  set 

,hi. 

Your  last  was  wrote  by  the  hand  of  a  fair  lady  to  whom  both  my 
mfe  and  I  send  our  compliments  as  well  as  to  yourself:  I  wish  you  joy 
Bf  being  able  to  write  yourself.  My  cholic  is  changed  to  gout  and 
a,  the  lar-water  having  drove  it  into  my  limbs,  and,  as  I  hope, 
Earrfiiig  il  off  by  those  ailments,  which  are  nothing  to  the  cholic. 


'  A  weU-known  Admiril.  in  ibe  fonner 
iV  of  bil  cenluiy.  The  coantcy  w»  if^- 
icd  about  thii  time  ij  dforti  in  Fiuce 


in  riTour  of  the  exiled  Slcwiii  binily.ind  the 
French  king  dcctaied  w«  againtt  Eiigt>nd 
in  Ihe  month  of  March. 


292  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

In  1744)  Berkeley  comes  more  prominently  into  the  light  than 
he  has  done  since  he  settled  in  his  ^  serene  comer'  at  Cloyne.  His 
medical  experiments  in  Imokilly  determined  the  course  of  his 
reading  and  speculation,  in  a  way  very  characteristic  of  him. 
He  had  been  devoted  to  tar-water  for  years.  He  heard  of  its 
medical  virtues  first  when  he  was  among  the  Indians  in  the  Nana- 
gansett  country,  and  he  now  bethought  himself  of  it  as  a  remedy 
for  the  diseases  which  followed  the  femine  in  his  neighbourhood  at 
Cloyne.  Its  apparent  success  in  some  diseases  led  him  to  experi- 
ment upon  it  in  others^  in  which  on  trial  it  seemed  not  less 
efficacious.  The  wide  medicinal  efficacy  of  this  simple  drug  led 
him  to  speculate  about  the  causes  of  this  efficacy.  He  satisfied 
himself  that  tar  contained  an  extraordinary  proportion  of  the  vital 
element  of  the  universe;  and  that  water  was  the  menstruum  by 
which  this  element  might  t>e  drawn  off,  and  conveyed  into  vege- 
table or  animal  organisms.  Well  made  tar-water,  thus  saturated 
with  the  essence  of  life,  must,  he  began  to  think,  be  a  Panacea 
for  the  diseases  to  which  the  vital  part  of  creation  is  liable.  He 
exulted  in  the  view  of  a  discovery  by  which  the  f^ysical  maladies 
of  this  mortal  life  might  all  be  mitigated,  if  not  subdued, — a  dis- 
covery which  was  to  overshadow  every  other  discovery,  and  to 
open  a  new  vista  of  happiness  to  mankind. 

What  enthusiasm  could  be  more  likely  to  take  possession  of  one 
so  susceptible  and  benevolent.  Body  and  mind  are  so  connected  in 
this  sentient  life  that  whatever  confirms  the  animal  health  afibrds 
new  conditions  of  intellectual  activity  and  spiritual  growth.  A 
physically  healthy  race  of  men  might  make  incalculable  advances 
in  the  warfare  with  error  and  prejudice,  and  thus  the  future  histo^ 
of  mankind  might  be  a  happy  contrast  to  its  past.  For  years  he 
had  himself  been  a  sufferer  from  a  complication  of  diseases  which 
had  withdrawn  much  of  his  former  energy.  This  might  be  restored 
now.  The  very  conception  kindled  an  enthusiastic  zeal  for  tar- 
water,  hardly  inferior  to  that  with  which  nearly  twenty  years 
before  he  had  projected  the  Bermuda  College.  Tar-water  was  his 
ruling  thought  and  enthusiasm  in  the  last  twelve  years  of  his  life. 
An  apparatus  for  manufacturing  it  was  set  up  in  one  of  the  rooms 
of  his  house.  The  nauseous  drug  was  the  great  medicine  in  his 
family,  and  he  tried,  by  offering  it  in  the  least  unpalatable  form, 
and  enveloping  it  in   a  lialo  of  philosophical  imagination  and 


HI,]       Philattlhropy  and  Phihsophy  at  Cloyne.         293 

sason,  to  make  it  the  medicine  for  his  neighbours  and  for  all 
»e  world.  His  friends  were  urged  to  join  him  in  experimenting 
pon  tar-water,  or  in  celebrating  its  medicinal  virtues.  Among 
thcrs,  Thomas  Prior  devoted  himself  to  the  well-intended  work 
B  Dublin,  and  with  characteristic  fidelity  announced  in  the 
\mtlemams  MagaMne^  and  in  pamphlets  of  his  own,  cures  attri- 
nted  to  tar-water. 

The  most  lasting  effect  of  Berkeley's  tar-water  enthusiasm 
las  been  the  curious  and  beautiful  work  of  speculation  in 
rtiich  he  celebrated  the  virtues  of  the  new  medicine.  In 
he  spring  of  1744,  he  ofFered  to  the  world,  A  Chain  of 
*bilosophical  Refiixioxs  mnd  En^ufrifi  concerning  the  yirturi  of  Tar- 
wtter,  and  divert  other  suhjrcls  connected  together  and  arising  one 
^Df  another.  This  work  cost  him  more  thought  and  research, 
K  used  to  say,  than  any  other  he  ever  undertook.  No  one  who 
namiaes  its  contents  can  be  surprised  to  hear  this.  The  book 
S  full  of  fruit  gathered  in  tlie  remote  by-ways  of  science  and 
ihitosophy.  Berkeley's  growing  inclination  towards  Platonism, 
tod  his  affectionate  study  of  Greek  philosophy,  partly  shown  in 
tlldpbroM^  is  much  more  conspicuous  in  these  Vhilosofhical  Refiec- 
^tmt.  The  supposed  universal  medicinal  efficacy  of  tar-water 
produced  in  his  thoughts  a  speculation— founded  on  the  history  of 
tncient  philosophy,  and  on  supposed  results  of  ancient  and  modem 
physical  research — which,  by  subtle  transitions,  ascended  from  the 
rital  spirit  of  vegetables  and  animals  to  the  vital  spirit  of  the 
niverse,  and  then  to  the  dependence  of  life  in  all  its  forms  upon 
tdind.  Berkeley  was  thus  led,  in  his  contemplative  old  age,  to 
ponder  more  deeply  those  necessary  relations  of  Intelligence  to 
Knsible  thin^  which  had  engaged  the  impetuous  logical  activity 
jf  his  youth.  The  issue  was  a  series  of  'aids  to  reflection,'  upon 
Ebe  interpretability  of  Nature;  upon  Space  and  Time,  Free-will 
ud  Necessity,  Matter  and  Form,  the'  Soul  of  Things,  and  the 
Inefiable  mysteries  of  Deity;  passing  one  into  another,  in  the 
iDost  unexpected  involutions  and  evolutions,  all  embedded  in 
Ancient  Philosophy,  in  this  wonderful  little  book,  which  far 
iranscends  the  unspeculative  and  unlearned  age  in  which  it 
ippeared,  and  shows  supposed  novelties  that  minister  to  modem 
xmceit,  to  be  as  old  as  the  Ncoplatonic,  oc  even  the  Pre-Socratic 


294 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


No  work  of  Berkeley's  so  rapidly  engaged  popular  attention. 
This  was  not  due  to  its  philosophy,  however,  but  to  its  vast  medical 
promise.  A  second  edition,  in  which  the  name  Sms  was  given  to 
it  by  its  author,  appeared  a  few  weeks  after  the  first.  Tar-watcr 
within  a  month  became  the  rage  in  England  as  well  as  in  Ireland 
Manufactories  of  tar-water  were  established  in  London^  DuUin, 
and  other  places  in  the  course  of  the  summer.  The  anger  of 
the  professional  physicians  was  roused  against  the  ecclesiastical 
intruder  into  their  province.  Pamphlets  were  written  against 
the  new  medicine,  and  other  pamphlets  were  written  in  reply. 
A  tar-water  controversy  ensued,  productive  of  writings  not  less 
numerous  or  bulky  than  those  yielded  by  the  ^AnMlyst  ccmtro- 
versy'  some  years  before.  The  infection  spread  to  other  countries. 
Sms  was  soon  translated,  in  whole  or  in  part,  into  French,  German, 
Dutch,  and  Portuguese ;  its  doctrines  were  discussed,  and  tar- water 
establishments  were  set  a-going  in  various  parts  of  Europe  and 
America  **. 

In  studying  the  philosophical  growth  of  Berkeley's  mind,  and 
apart  from  the  medicinal  uses  of  tar-water,  Sms  should  be  compared 
with  the  Frtnciples  of  Human  Knowledge^  published  more  than  thirty 
years  before.     Each  supplements  the  other  j  in  the  two  combined 


^  It  would  be  endless  to  quote  contem- 
porary expressions  of  the  interest  excited 
by  a  panacea,  previously  undiscovered,  but 
which  Hippocrates  and  Sydenham  supposed 
to  exist  somewhere  in  nature,  and  which 
was  now  referred  to  tar -water  by  a 
personage  so  distinguished  as  the  Bishop 
of  Cloyne.  I  have  mentioned  some  of 
these  in  the  Preface  to  Siris  *.  Here  are  a 
few  more.  In  Nichols's  Illustrations  (vol.  I. 
p.  644)  we  have  the  following,  in  a  letter 
from  C.  Pratt,  dated  April  29,  1744:  'The 
book  most  talked  of  at  present  is  a  pam- 
phlet of  Bishop  Berkeley  upon  the  vir- 
tues of  Tar-water,  which  he  recommends  as 
the  universal  medicine  for  all  complaints. 
There  is  a  deal  of  abstruse  inquiry  into  the 
nature  of  Fire,  Air,  and  Light,  and  the  Lord 
knows  what.  It  closes  in  some  conceits 
upon  the  Trinity.  You  know  how  wild 
ingenious  enthusiasts  are ;  but  the  book 
deserves  to  be  read  for  the  elegance  of  its 
style,  a  thine;  rarely  met  with  in  this  age  of 
bombast/  [The  same  letter  refers  to  Aken- 
side's  Pleasures  of  Imagination^  and  Arm- 
strong's Art  o/Healtbt  as  new  books.]   *  Tar 


and  turpentine,'  says  Smith,  in  his  Natural 
History  of  the  County  of  Cork  (1750),  'are 
products  of  these  [fir]  trees.  The  former 
has  of  late  obtained  a  place  among  the  best 
of  medicines,  and  its  virtues  have  been  cele- 
brated by  an  Essay  that  surpasses  everjrthiog 
that  has  yet  been  wrote  upon  any  medicine  yet 
discovered.'  Tar-water  was,  some  yean 
after  this,  commemorated  by  the  novdist 
Fielding: — *Such  a  panacea  one  of  the 
greatest  scholars  and  best  of  men  did  lately 
apprehend  that  he  had  discovered.  It  is  true 
he  was  no  physician,  and  yet  perhaps  00 
other  modem  bath  contributed  so  much 
to  make  his  physical  skill  useful  to  the 
public.  I  mean  the  late  Bishop  of  Cloyne 
in  Irehmd,  and  the  discovery  is  that  of 
the  virtues  of  tar*water.'  Fielding  then 
goes  on  to  describe  how  he  had  tried  it 
for  dropsy  with  good  efiect.  (Introductioo 
to  his  Voyage  to  Lisbon,)  See  abo 
Hardinge's  Life  of  Sneyd  Davits,  p.  165 ; 
Abp.  Herring's  Correspondence  vdtb  WiUiam 
Duneotnbe,  Esq.,  pp.  70,  74,  and  many 
contemporary  allusions,  and  verses  on  the 
subject,  in  the  Oent,  Mag.  and  elsewhere. 


*  Siris  [ofiplsjj  dimin.  from  otipd,  a  chain. 


\  viii.]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.         295 

I  we  have  the  philosophical  meaniDg  of  his  life  in  its  most  com-    ' 
prehensive  form.  I 

There  is  one  vein  of  spcailation  in  Smt  of  which  there  is  almost 
no  trace  in  any  of  Berkeley's  earlier  works,  and  of  which  it  is 
(ii0icuit  to  make  a  satisfactory  biographical  analysis.  He  had 
somehow  come  to  entertain  the  opinion,  which  he  shared  with 
many  of  the  ancient  philosophers,  that  Fire,  Light,  or  ^ther  is  the 
*  animal  spirit '  of  this  sensible  world.  This  notion  runs  through 
5ff7/,  and  he  luxuriates  in  it  in  a  way  which  the  reader  is  rather 
I  at  a  loss  to  reconcile  with  what  he  was  accustomed  to  in  the 
Prhtfiples  of  Human  Knmvhdge,  or  even  in  Aleifkron.  In  fact,  in 
I  Ahifkron  he  puts  a  somewhat  analogous  theory  into  the  mouth  of 
I  a  sceptjcal  interlocutor*".  The  wilderness  of  physical  hypothesis 
,  over  which  we  have  to  travel  in  the  Fire  Philosophy  of  Berkeley, 
one  is  apt  to  think  an  unnecessary  obstruction  on  the  path, 
especially  under  that  conception  of  an  immediately  acting  pro- 
vidential Mind  being  the  constant  energy  in  the  universe  which 
satisfied  him  formerly.  What  need  for  this  interposed  ather,  or 
fiery  spirit — this  'plastic  medium'— to  connect  the  Universal 
Mind  with  the  visible  and  tangible  changes  of  which  we  are 
conscious  ?  Its  immediate  recommendation  was  that  it  gave  the 
unity  which  a  panacea  presupposes.  Still,  some  growing  tendency 
to  mystical  contemplation  must  have  been  at  work,  clouding  the 
lucid  and  argumentative  phenomenalism  of  his  Trinity  College 
years;  and  the  inclination  was  encouraged  at  Cloyne  by  much 
solitary  reading  of  Platonists  and  Ncoplatooists,  as  well  as  of 
chemists  and  alchemists.  Its  fnarkcd  existence  in  his  later  years  is 
among  the  most  interesting  of  his  mental  characteristics  *^ 


•Cr.DUI.VI.«ct.l3,l4.  laAUitirmu 
Irdl  ai  in  Sirii.  however,  he  lercri  Ibiidly 
to  the  tiTuig  of  the  indent  lagei  or  the 
EiM,— thil  God  hu  light  for  his  hoAj.  and 
bmh  fot  hii  toul.  Cf.  AlcipbrDH.  Dial.  IV. 
tect.>s;  S'rru.iecLi/g.  Light  or  A!ther  ii, 
irith  Ekikekf ,  the  fiery  ipiiit  of  the  univcne. 

••  The  '  Fire  Miilowiphy '  runs  through  ■ 
»av  nre  work,  entitled  TTji  Analogy  (/ 
DaiKt  WitdoTH  I'D  iSt  iVaUrial,  Stnsilivr, 
Moral,  and  Spirinial  SytUm  0/  Tbingi,  by 
lUcbtrd  BMton,  B.D.  The  jecoiid  edition 
U34  PP-)  *>*  pnbliihed  at  Dublin  in  1750. 
TUt  editioD  it  *n  enpaniion  of  a  smaller 
Work  published  tevenl  years  bdbrc,  Grew'i 
Anatomy  t^PUuUi,  Tacquel's  laalhcniilicat 


worlu.  and  other  relerencei  are  common  to 
thi>  author  and  Berkeley.  In  Pan  111.  an 
analogy  is  unfolded  between  the  Holy  Ghost 
and  the  universal  vlher  or  elemental  fire. 
■  The  properties  of  elemental  Gie  or  zthcr.' 
(ajt  the  author,  <  are  to  well  expreued  by 
au  eminent  philosopher  and  divine  that  hii 
language  shall  be  pretty  nearly  used.'  Several 
quoiaiions  from  fflWj  are  then  given. 

Sir  Uaac  Nnmon's  aceounl  of  Ibt  jSlbtr, 
nilb  ami  additions  hf  may  if  Apptndix, 
by  B.  R.,  M.D.  [Dt.  Bryan  Robioion  ?],  ia 
the  title-page  of  a  tract  published  in  Dublin 
in  1745.  in  which  the  tame  subject,  on  one 
of  its  aspects,  ii  conudered.  But  Newton's 
athet  it  nol  Beikeley's. 


296  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

When  we  compare  ^ris  with  the  Frimdples  we  find  other  dis- 
tinctive features.  The  universals  of  intellect,  for  instance, 
overshadow  here  the  ideas  of  sense  and  imagination.  Sris  may, 
in  this  respect^  almost  be  taken  as  some  of  the  unfinished  part 
of  the  Principles  of  Hwtum  KnawUdge.  The  things  of  sense 
are  looked  at  in  it  as  only  the  shadows  of  reality.  Intellectual 
light  is  sought  for  in  the  universal  and  constructive  activities 
of  mind  ^ — in  which  we  participate  with  Deity,  throug^i 
which  sensible  things  consist,  and  by  which  their  various 
relations  are  scientifically  explicable.  Fhammemam  oftener 
than  idea  is  applied  in  Siris  to  the  objects  of  sense  and  imagi- 
nation—contrary to  Berkeley's  habit  of  language  in  his  earlier 
writings;  while  Ideas  (not  in  the  Lockian,  but  in  a  Platonic 
meaning)  are  accepted  as  the  real  causes  or  active  principles  of 
things.  A  position  intermediate  between  Aristotle  and  Plato, 
in  regard  to  the  cardinal  question  of  philosophy,  is  contemplated. 
^  Aristotle,'  says  Berkeley,  <  held  that  the  mind  of  man  was  a 
takila  rasMy  aiui  that  there  were  no  innate  ideas.  Plato,  on  the 
contrary,  held  original  ideas  in  the  mind^  that  is,  notions  which 
never  were,  nor  can  be  in  the  sense,  such  as  being,  bearing,  good- 
ness, likeness,  purity.  Some  perhaps  may  think  the  truth  to  be 
this : — that  there  are  properly  no  ideas^  or  passive  objects,  in  the 
mind,  but  what  were  derived  from  sense :  but  that  there  are  also 
besides  these  her  own  acts  or  operations :  such  are  notions  *^.' 

An  increased  eclecticism  and  tolerance  of  intellectual  temper 
also  marks  Berkeley's  mental  condition  when  Siris  was  written. 
He   is   more  of  an   eclectic   now,  less  inclined  to  regard  the 
New  Principle  of  his  youth  as  the  settlement  of  all  the  diffi- 
culties of  speculation.     He  sees  that   there  is  more  to  ponder 
in  the  universe  than  that  esse  is  percipi.     This  intuition  of  his 
youth  is  presented  more  modestly,  and  rather  as  the  beginning 
than  as  the  end  and  completion  of  philosophy.     The  experience 
of  life,  and  his  Greek  reading,  had  perhaps  helped  to  teach  him  that 
the  strange  universe  in  which  we  find  ourselves  is  not  so  easily 
and  perfectly  intelligible  as  it  seemed  in  long  past  days  in  Dubliru 
There  is  a  feeling  of  its  mysteriousness,  which  was  growing  upon 
him  even  in  the  days  of  Alciphron  and  the  Analyst.     There  is  a 
welcome  recognition  of  Theism  in  any  form  of  faith  that  preserves 

^  SiriSf  feet.  308. 


Wni.]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.         297 

nte  siipremacy  of  Spirit  id  the  universe — even  when  it  might  be 
plied  Pantheism  by  the  unspecuiative,  and  a  willingness  to  receive 
pto  spiritual  communion  diversified  forms  of  ancient  and  modern 
seligious  belief.  Ecclesiastical  life  and  episcopal  office  had  not 
Kioiled  the  philosopher:  he  had  been  perfected  by  suffering,  and 
Ins  tone  is  more  unworldly  than  ever.  Berkeley's  latest  work  in 
hbilosophy  breathes  more  than  any  of  his  works  the  jriiilosophic 
wnrit.  For  Sirii  was  his  last  word  in  speculation.  Except  a  few 
fracts,  it  was  his  last  printed  word  of  all.  And  its  closing  sentences 
■rorttuly  express  his  own  spiritual  growth  in  later  life.  He  is  found 
kger,  more  libera!,  and  more  modest,  as  he  advances.  He  leaves 
IB  with  the  parting  thought,  that  *in  this  mortal  state  we  must 
[be  satisfied  to  make  the  best  of  those  glimpses  within  our  readi.' 
iTct  he  has  discovered  that  'the  eye,  by  long  use,  comes  to  see  even 
I  in  the  darkest  cavern  i'  and  that  there  is  '  no  subject  so  obscure 
I  bat  we  may  discern  some  glimpse  of  truth  by  long  poring  on  it.' 
I  Truth,  he  has  learned,  is  the  cry  of  all,  but  the  game  only  of 
u  few.  Certainly,  where  it  is  the  chief  passion,  it  doth  not 
I  give  way  to  vulgar  cares  and  views;  nor  is  it  contented  with  a 
I  Utile  ardour  in  the  early  time  of  life,  active  perhaps  to  pursue, 
tfet  not  so  fit  to  weigh  and  revise.  He  that  would  make  a  real 
||rogress  in  knowledge  must  dedicate  his  age  as  well  as  youth, 
[the  later  growth  as  well  as  first  fruits,  at  the  altar  of  truth**.' 
fSucb  was  the  spirit  of  Berkeley  in  the  episcopal  palace  of  Cloyne. 
His  words  impress  the  difference  between  the  enthusiastic  argu- 
nentative  pursuit  of  one  conception  into  its  logical  consequences, 
Ifal  the  Prineififij  and  the  intuitive  weighing  and  revision  of  truth 
D  Shify  in  his  contemplative  old  age. 

The  following  letter  to  Prior,  with  the  prefixed  lines,  shows 
lat  Berkeley  was  absorbed  in  during  this  summer : — 
To  drink  or  not  to  drink  1    dial  is  the  doubt, 
With  pro  and  ft>w  the  leam'd  would  make  it  out. 
Anions,  drink  on  !    the  jolly  prelate  cries : 

What  the  prelate  persuades  the  doctor  denies.  ^^^ 

But  why  need  the  parties  so  learnedly  fight,  ^^^H 

Or  ctinleric  Jurin  so  fiercely  indite  ?  ^^^| 

Sure  onr  senses  can  tell  if  ihe  liquor  be  right.  ^^H 

<*A>^.K<:1.  367,36s.  ^H 


298  Life  and  Leiiers  0/  Berkeley.  [CH. 

What  agrees  «ith  bis  stomttch,  and  what  with  Ids  headf 
The  drinker  may  feel,  though  he  can't  write  or  read 
Then  authority  '9  nothing :  the  doctors  are  men : 
And  v.-ho  drinks  tar-uiater  wiH  drink  iJ  again. 

Dear  Tom.  aoyne./uw  19,  I?**. 

Last  night  being  unable  to  sleep  for  the  heat,  t  fell  into  a  reverie  00 
my  pillow,  which  produced  the  foregoing  lines ;  and  it  is  all  the  answer 
1  intend  for  Dr.  Jurin's  letter,  for  that  I  am  lold  is  the  writer's  name  of* 
pamphlet  addressed  to  me,  and  which  was  sent  me  from  London".  ^Tien 
you  cause  these  hnes  to  be  printed  in  the  public  papers,  you  uill  take 
care  to  have  them  transcribed,  that  the  veraca  may  not  be  known  to  be 
mine.  Because  you  desire  remarks  on  the  affidavits  (things  very  obrious 
to  make),  I  send  ihera  back  to  you,  who  will  remark  yourself.  I  scad 
you  at  the  same  lime  a  Letler"  which  I  formerly  wrote,  before  you  sent 
the  affidavits,  as  you  will  see  by  the  date,  but  never  sent,  having  changed 
my  mind  as  to  appearing  myself  in  that  affair,  which  can  be  better 
managed  by  a  third  hand.  Let  one  of  the  Letters,  cut  and  stitched  in 
marble  paper,  be  sent  to  every  body  in  I>ublin  to  whom  a  book  was 
given ;  and  let  one  of  the  copies  be  sent  Mr.  Innys,  to  be  printed  in  the 
same  size  in  London ;  also  for  the  magazine,  where  you  talk  of  getting 
it  inserted.  | 

I  wish  you  to  send  the  two  volumes  of  Universal  Hitlory,  the  »i 
tomes  of  Wilkins's  Cmncih^^,  and  the  books  from  Linys,  in  a  boi 
together,  to  be  left  for  me  at  Mr.  Harper's  in  Cork.  All  here  are  yours. 
Adieu.     Yours  affecdonately, 

G.  CLOYNE. 

We  have  additional  evidence  of  his  tar-water  zeal  io  the  follow- 
ing Setter  to  Sir  Thomas  Hanmer^^,  whose  name  reminds  us  of 
Swift,  and  of  the  now  distant  days  of  Berkeley's  life  spent  in 
London  under  Swift's  guidance : — 

Chynt,  August  ti,  1744. 
Sir, 
As  I  am  with  particular  esteem  and  respect  your  humble  servant,  so  I 
heartily  wish  your  success  in  the  use  of  tar-^-ater  may  justify  the  kind 
things  you  say  on  that  subject.    But,  since  you  arc  pleased  to  consult  me 

"  See  Editor"!  Ptcfice  Io  fi'irii.  hoKdintitttm,   A.D.  IJI7,  the  well- known 

'^  ^iVtlKi't  Tim  Ltttir  to  Tbama  Print,  woik  of  David  Wilkioi.  a  leuncd  divine, 

OH  rar-iM/w.     Sec  Works,  ml.  111.  p.  463.  appeired  in  four  folioi  in  1736 — 37. 

The  affidavili  reret  to  alleged  cures.  "  Printed  in  the  Om-tifondBH*  of  Sb 

"■  CoiKUia  Magna  BrUannia  it  Ribtr-  Thomai  Hanniei.  Ban.  {1838'  

nia,  a  Syaodo  Vtrttlamtaii,  A.D,  44').  ad 


vm.]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloym. 


299 


about  taking  it,  1  shall  without  further  ceremony  tell  you  what  I  think, 
how  ill  soever  a  physician's  air  may  become  one  of  my  profession, 
tainly,  if  I  may  conclude  from  parallel  cases,  there  is  room  to  e 
good  hopes  of  yours  :  both  giddiness  and  relaxed  fibres  having  been,  1 
my  knowledge,  much  relieved  by  tar-water.  The  sooner  you  take  it,  so 
much  the  better.  I  could  wish  you  saw  it  made  yourself,  and  strongly 
stirred.  While  it  stands  to  clarify,  let  it  be  close  covered,  and  afterwards 
bottled,  and  well  corked.  I  find  it  agrees  with  most  stomachs,  when 
stirred  even  five  or  six  minutes,  provided  it  be  skimmed  before  bottling. 
You  may  begin  with  a  pint  a  day,  and  proceed  to  a  pint  and  a  half,  or 
even  a  quart,  as  it  shall  agree  with  your  stomach.  And  you  may  take 
this  quantity  either  in  half-pint  or  quarter-pint  glasses,  at  proper  intervals 
in  the  twenty-four  hours.  It  may  be  drunit  indifferently,  at  any  season 
of  the  year.  It  lays  under  no  restraint,  nor  obliges  you  to  go  out  of 
your  usual  course  of  diet  Only,  in  general,  I  suppose  light  suppers, 
early  hours,  and  gentle  exercise  (so  as  not  to  tire)  good  for  all  cases". 
With  your  tar-water  I  wish  you  may  take  no  other  medicines.  1  have 
had  much  experience  of  it,  and  can  honestly  say  I  never  knew  it  do 
barm.  The  ill  effects  of  drugs  shew  themselves  soonest  on  the  weakest 
persons ;  such  are  children ;  and  I  assure  you  that  my  two  youngest 
children  (when  they  were  one  three,  and  the  other  not  two  years  old) 
as  a  preservative  against  the  small-pox,  constantly  for  sis  months 
without  any  inconvenience.  Upon  the  whole,  I  apprehend  no 
'«nd  much  benefit  in  your  case,  and  shall  be  very  glad  to  End  my 
confirmed  by  a  line  from  yourself,  which  will  always  be  received  as 
a  great  favour  by 

Sir,  your  most  obedient  and 

most  humble  servant, 

GEORGE   CLOYNE. 

The   last  epistolary  scrap  in   1 744  is  a  letter  to  Prior,  again 

with  a  playful  poetical  effusion,  still  full  of  tar-water.     The  letter 

contains  the  only  intimation  of  Berkeley  having  a  sister  which 

I   have   anywhere   found.      The   verses,  which   appeared   in   the 

Gentltman's  Magaxine  for  October  1744,  arc  as  follows  ; — 

On  SiBis  and  its  Enemies.    By  a  Drinker  of  Tar-Water. 

How  can  devoted  Siris  stand 

Such  dire  attacks  ?    The  licens'd  band, 

With  upcast  eyes  and  visage  sad, 

Proclaim,  '  Alas  I   the  world 's  run  mad. 

"  Cf.  Sins.  b«l.  (—,1. 


300  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

'The  prelate's  book  has  tum'd  their  brains; 
'To  set  them  right  will  cost  us  pains. 
'  His  drug  too  makes  our  patients  sick ; 
'And  this  doth  vex  us  to  the  quick.' 
And,  vez'd  they  must  be,  to  be  sure,. 
To  find  tar-water  cannot  cure, 
But  makes  men  sicker  still  and  sicker, 
And  fees  come  thicker  still  and  thicker. 

Bursting  with  pity  for  mankind. 
But  to  their  own  advantage  blind. 
Many  a  wight,  with  face  of  fun'ral, 
From  mortar,  still,  and  urinal. 
Hastes  to  throw  in  his  scurvy  mite 
Of  spleen,  of  dullness,  and  of  spite. 
To  furnish  the  revolving  moons 
With  pamphlets,  epigrams,  lampoons, 
Against  tar-water.    You  'd  know  why — 
Think  who  they  are:  you'll  soon  descry 
What  means  each  angry  doleful  ditty. 
Whether  themselves  or  us  they  pity. 

Dear  Tom, 

The  doctors,  it  seems,  are  grown  very  abusive.  To  silence  them,  I 
send  you  the  above  scrap  of  poetry,  which  I  would  by  no  means  have 
known  or  suspected  for  mine.  You  will  therefore  bum  the  original,  and 
send  a  copy  to  be  printed  in  a  newspaper,  or  the  Genilnnan's  MagoMuu. 
I  must  desire  you  to  get  some  bookseller  in  Dublin  to  procure  me  the 
History  of  the  Learned^  and  the  Gentleman* s  Magazine^  two  pamphlets 
that  come  out  monthly.  For  the  time  past  I  would  have  the  History  or 
Memoirs  of  the  Learned  for  the  months  of  May,  June,  and  July  past, 
and  the  Magazine  for  last  July.  For  the  future,  I  would  be  supplied 
with  them  every  month**. 

It  is  to  be  noted,  that  tar-water  is  best  made  in  glazed  earthen  vessels. 
I  would  have  the  foregoing  sentence  inserted  in  the  English  edition,  and 
next  Irish  edition  of  the  Letter^  at  the  end  of  the  section  that  recites  the 
manner  of  making  tar-water*^.  It  is  very  lately  I  made  this  remark,  that 
it  is  finer  and  clearer  when  so  made  than  if  in  unglazed  crocks. 

**  The  History  qftbe  Works  of  tbe  Learned,  number  for  November  1730,  Hume's  7Vm- 

giving  a  view  of  the  sute  of  learning  through-  tise  of  Human  NcUure  was  handled  roughly, 

out   Europe,  and  containing    abstracts    of  The  Gm/.  Afo;^.  commenced  in  Jan.  1 731. 
new  books,  commenced  in  January  1737,  "  Cf.  Worn,  rol.  III.  p.  493. 

and  was  continued  for  several  years.    In  the 


VIII.]       Philanthropy  ajtd  Philosophy  at  Cloync.         301 

Pray  send  the  numbers  of  our  tickets  in  this  lottery.  My  sister  wrote 
to  Mrs,  Hamilton'*,  but  has  got  no  answer.  Perhaps  her  niece  might 
have  been  cured  of  her  sore  eye  since  she  left  Dublin.  I  am,  dear  Tom, 
your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

GEORGE  CLOYNE. 

Sept.  3,  1744- 

P.  S.  When  you  send  the  other  books,  I  desire  you  to  put  up  with 
ihem  two  dissertations  of  Whiston's,  upKin  our  Saviour's  miracles,  and 
Upon  the  Eternity  of  Hell  Torments,  if  this  can  be  got  in  town ;  also  half 
a  guinea's  worth  (;'.  e.  25)  Gi/^s  lo  Maid- Servants,  printed  by  Falkner. 

Sepifmbtr  3,  1744, 

The  tar-watcr  philosophical  enthusiasm,  though  for  medical 
purposes  it  lasted  through  the  rest  of  his  life,  did  not  blind 
Berkeley  to  other  social  interests.  The  movement  of  Prince 
Charles  Edward,  in  1745",  occasioned  his  Letter  to  the  Roman 
Catbolici  cf  Cloyne,  full  of  humane  and  liberal  spirit.  It  was  widely 
circulated  in  the  Duitht  Journal  and  otherwise,  and,  by  general 
consent,  helped  greatly  to  restrain  the  Irish  of  that  communion 
from  joining  the  young  Chevalier.  In  1744,  its  author  had  as- 
cended, in  Sirit,  to  the  heights  of  Neoplatonic  speculation;  in 
'74,5i  '"  descending  to  deal  with  men,  he  showed  himself  ready 
to  observe  and  act,  and  to  treat  those  of  a  different  communion 
in  a  spirit  worthy  of  a  Christian  bishop. 

His  generous  patriotism  recommended  him  to  the  well-known 
Earl  of  Chesterfieid,  who  was  made  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland  in 
August  1745-  Under  his  short  administration,  at  a  critical  time 
in  the  internal  history  of  these  islands,  Ireland  enjoyed  unusual 
tranquillity  and  prosperity.  Berkeley  was  not  a  stranger  to  Lord 
Chesterfield,  and  the  new  Lord  Lieutenant  was  anxious  to  advance 
him  to  a  more  lucrative  ecclesiastical  position  than  Cloyne. 
Chesterfield's  biographer  tells  the  stury  thus  "* : — *  Soon  after  Lord 
Chesterfield's  return  from  his  first  embassy  in  Holland,  Dr.  Berkeley 
presented  him  with  his  Minute  Philosopher^  which  was  just  then 


"  Thenidowof  iheDeinof  D[omore(T).  f^ndnephnr,  MmkIc  Beikdey.  wu  it  the 

■  BerkBley'ijioangerbrothH  Williim.'aQ  UoiTetiity  of  Si,  Andrews,  n«*ily  rortj  yeii» 

ciCcUeot   olEctr,'  ii  Mid    lo    hate   beld   i  after.     See  Prijaei  n  Afonc)  Birlutty, 

inind   in    Fiftibir*  in  the  '45,  ind  to  ■  Dr.  Maty'i   Mtiumrt   1^  ibt   Earl  </    I 

d  ihcre  when  liii  Cbultrfiitd. 


I 


302  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkd^.  [ch. 


published,  and  met  with  uncommon  approbation.      His  lordship 
esteemed  the  author  still  more  than  the  book ;  but  there  was  no 
intimacy  between  them.    When  he  came  to  Dublin,  with  the 
power  as  well  as  desire  of  rewarding  merit,  he  embraced  the  firrt 
opportunity  of  showing  his  regard  for  so  respectable  a  character, 
and  accordingly  made  an  offer  to  the  Doctor  of  changing  his 
bishopric  of  Cloyne  for  that  of  Clogher,  which  was  of  much  greater 
value.    This  consideration  had  no  influence  upon  a  philosoj^er, 
who  had  nothing  little  in  his  composition.    He  could  not  bear 
even  the  suspicion  of  having  been  bribed  to  write  in  favour  of  the 
government,  and  therefore  declined  the  exchange.'     Stock  says 
that  ^  he  had  enough  already  to  satisfy  all  his  wishes ;  and,  agree- 
ably to  the  natural  *  warmth  of  his  temper,  he  had  conceived  so 
high  an  idea  of  the  beauties  of  Cloyne,  that  Mr.  Pope  had  once 
almost  determined  to  make  a  visit  to  Ireland  on  purpose  to  see  a 
place  which  his  friend  had  painted  out  to  him  with  all  the  brilliancy 
of  colouring,  and  which  yet  to  common  eyes  presents  nothing  that 
is  very  worthy  of  attention.'     Mrs.  Berkeley  tells  a  somewhat 
different  story.     She  says  that  her  husband  'never  had  an  idea 
of  Cloyne  as  a  beautiful  situation/     This  is  hardly  consistent 
with  more  than  one  of  his  previous  letters.     About  the  corre- 
spondence with  Pope  (who  died  in  May  1744),  I  am  also  scep- 
tical ;  at  least  I  have  found  no  traces  of  letters  between  them  after 
Berkeley  removed  to  Ireland.     As  to  the  Clpgher  preferment,  it 
seems  that  he  told  his  wife  soon  after  they  went  to  Clojme,  ^  that 
his  resolution  was  never  to  change  his  see ;  because,  as  he  after- 
wards confessed  to  the  Archbishop  of  Tuam**  and  the  late  Earl  of 
Shannon,  he  had  very  early  in  life  got  the  world  under  his  feet, 
and  he  hoped  to  trample  on  it  to  his  latest  moments®®.' 

The  Primacy  soon  after  became  vacant,  and  there  was  a  desire 
to  have  Berkeley  nominated.  He  remained  notwithstanding  at 
Cloyne,  where  he  had  indulged  in  so  many  years  of  solitary 
thought. 

The  letters  to  Dean  Gervais  which  follow,  allude  to  some 
contemporary  politics,  and  one  of  them  refers  to  the  death 
of  his  old  friend  Swift,  who  had  been  dead  to  all  literary  and 
active  service  during  years  of  silence  and  an  eclipse  of  reason. 

^  Jemmett  Browne.  ^  See  Biog.  Bri£.,  vol.  III.~<  Addenda  and  Corrigenda.* 


au]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloytic.         303 

lCloyiu:-],/uiKz,  1745. 

I  oOKaBATULiTE  with  you  On  the  success  of  your  late  dose  of  physic. 

'Hk  goui,  as  Dr.  Sydenham  styles  it,  is  amarissi'mtm  nalura  pharvtacum. 

]t  ibrows  off  a  sharp  excrement  from  the  blood  to  the  limbs  and  extre- 

of  the  body,  and  is  no  less  useful  than  painful".    I  think,  Mr. 

})eaii,  you  have  paid  for  the  g'ay  excursion  you  made  last  winter  to  the 

.metropolis  and  the  court ".    And  yet,  such  is  ihe  condition  of  mortals,  I 

flRsee  you  will   forget  the  pain  next  winter,  and  return  to  Ihe  same 

of  life  which  brought  it  on. 

As  to  our  varlike  achievements,  if  I  were  to  rate  our  successes  by  our 

1  couid  forebode  little  good.    Bui  if  we  are  sinners,  our  enemies 

saints.     It  is  my  opinion  we  shall  heartily  maul  one  another, 

Miout  any  signal  advantage  on  either  side.     How  the  sullen  English 

Ijmres  who  pay  the  piper  will  like  this  dance,  I  cannot  tell.     For  my 

m  pan,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  land  expeditions  are  but  ill  suited 

Ihcr  to  the  force  or  interest  of  England;  and  that  our  friends  would 

I  more  if  we  did  less  on  ihe  continent. 

Were  I  to  send  my  son  from  home,  I  assure  you  there  is  no  one  to 
lose  prudent  care  and  good  nature  I  would  sooner  trust  him  than 
ws.  But,  as  I  am  his  physician,  I  think  myself  obliged  to  keep  him 
tb  me.  Besides,  as  after  so  long  an  illness  his  constitution  is  very 
Kcate,  I  imagine  this  warm  vale  of  Cloyne  is  better  suited  to  it  than 
mr  lofty  and  exposed  situation  of  Lismore.  Nevertheless,  my  wife  and 
I  are  extremely  obliged  by  your  kind  offer,  and  concur  in  our  hearty 
for  it 


\Chynt\,Nov.  24.  i745- 
Yoc  are  in  for  life.  Not  all  the  philosophers  have  been  saying  these 
ihrec  thousand  years  on  the  vanity  of  riches,  the  cares  of  greatness,  and 
the  brevity  of  human  life,  will  be  able  to  reclaim  you.  However,  as  it  is 
■bsen-ed  that  most  men  have  patience  enough  to  bear  ihc  misfortunes  of 
OdieTS,  I  am  resolved  not  to  break  my  heart  for  my  old  friend,  if  you 
Aould  prove  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  made  a  bishop.  The  reception  you 
with  from  Lord  Chesterfield  was  perfectly  agreeable  to  his  Excel- 
;|eDcy's  character,  who  being  so  clair-voyanl  in  everything  else  could  not 
:  supposed  blind  to  your  merit 

Your  friends  the  Dutch  have  shewed  themselves,  what  I  always  took 
em  to  be,  selfish  and  ungenerous.    To  crown  all,  we  are  now  told  the 


L  68.  80. 


"  Octriii  wii  evidently  fond  of  going  lo  Dublin. 


forces  they  sent  us  have  private  ordeis  not  to  6ghl.  I  hope  we  shall  n« 
wanl  them. 

By  the  letter  you  favoured  me  with,  I  find  the  regents  of  our  universiiy 
have  shewn  iheir  loyalty  at  the  expense  of  iheir  wit  The  poor  dead 
Dean,  though  no  idolater  of  the  Whigs,  was  no  more  a  Jacobite  than 
Dr.  Baldwin.  And  had  he  been  even  a  Papist,  what  then  f  Wit  is  of 
no  party  ". 

We  have  been  alanned  with  a  report  that  a  great  body  of  rapparee) 
is  up  in  the  county  of  Kilkenny :  these  are  looked  on  by  some  as  the 
forerunners  of  an  insurrection.  In  opposition  to  this,  our  militia  have 
been  arrayed,  that  is,  sworn:  but  alasl  we  want  not  oaths,  we  nant 
muskets.  I  have  bought  up  all  I  could  gel,  and  provided  hor^s  wid 
arms  for  four-and- twenty  of  the  Protestants  of  Cloj-ne,  which,  with  a  few 
more  that  can  furnish  themselves,  make  up  a  troop  of  thirty  horse.  This 
seemed  necessary  to  keep  off  rogues  in  these  doubtful  times. 

May  we  hope  lo  gain  a  sight  of  you  in  the  recess  f  Were  I  as  able  lo 
go  to  town,  how  readily  should  I  wait  on  my  Lord  Lieutenant  and  the 
Dean  of  Tuam.  Your  letters  are  so  much  tissue  of  gold  and  silver:  in 
return  I  am  forced  to  send  you  from  this  comer  a  patch-work  of  tailan' 
shreds,  for  which  I  entreat  your  compassion,  and  that  you  will  believe 
me,  Ac. 


[Cliyiu], /an.  6,  1746. 
Two  days  ago  I  was  favoured  with  a  very  agreeable  visit  from  Baroo 
Mounlnay  and  Mr.  Drislow".  I  hear  they  have  taken  Lismore  in  their 
way  to  Dublin.  We  want  a  liltle  of  your  foreign  fire  to  raise  our  Irish 
spirits  in  this  heavy  season.  This  makes  your  purpose  of  coming  very 
agreeable  news.  We  will  chop  politics  together,  sing  lo  Pttan  lo  the 
Duke,  revile  the  Dutch,  admire  the  King  of  Sardinia,  and  applaud  the 
Earl  of  Chesterfield,  whose  name  is  sacred  all  over  this  island  except 
Lismore ;  and  what  should  put  your  citizens  of  Lismore  out  of  huinoar 
with  his  Excellency  I  cannot  comprehend.  But  the  discussion  of  these 
points  must  be  deferred  to  your  wished-for  arrival. 


"  Swift  died  October  ig,  1745.  Immc- 
dlildr  tiftct  hit  death  (omc  mcmlwti  of 
Triniljr  College,  Dublin,  piopoied  to  pbce 
hi>  bull  Ed  the  College  Litn-ir]-.  It  wii  (up- 
poted  «h»t  the  Whig  Proroil,  Baldwin,  would 
object  to  thii.  at  well  u  the  Mojor  FeHowi. 
The  lurmlK  wat  ungrounded :  the  buil  wai 
Rdmiltcd  withonl  anjr  objection,  and  ii  now 


in  the  tibiiTy. 

"  Richard  Mo«nma)i.ofiheInne»T«lii|il«. 
London,  wat  a  Baron  at  the  Exchequd  in 
Ireland,  IJ41— 68.  The  Rei,  PeM  Bn^ 
tow  wat  a  ricar  chore]  of  Cork,  i73J-<9. 
He  wrote  a  comtdy,  called  Tht  Hariijiaiu. 
printed  at  London  in  1753. 


niL]      Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.        305 

[Clqyne],  Feb.  6,  1746. 

Yon  say  jou  carried  away  regret  from  Qoyne.  I  assure  you  that  you 
SA  not  cany  it  all  away:  there  was  a  good  share  of  it  left  with  us: 
iriudi  was  on  the  following  news-day  increased  upon  hearing  the  fate  of 
jDor  niece.  My  wife  could  not  read  this  piece  of  news  without  tears, 
Ikxigfa  her  knowledge  of  that  amiable  young  lady  was  no  more  than  one 
day's  acquaintance.  Her  mournful  widower  is  beset  with  many  temporal 
blessings :  but  the  loss  of  such  a  wife  must  be  long  felt  through  them  all. 
Comfdete  happiness  is  not  to  be  hoped  for  on  this  side  Gascony.  All 
dioie  who  are  not  Gascons  must  have  a  comer  of  woe  to  creep  out  at, 
md  to  comfort  themselves  with  at  parting  from  this  world.  Certainly  if 
«e  had  nothmg  to  make  us  uneasy  here,  heaven  itself  would  be  less 
wished  for.  But  I  should  remember  I  am  writing  to  a  philosopher  and 
divine ;  so  shall  turn  my  thoughts  to  politics,  concluding  with  this  sad 
reflection^  that,  happen  what  will,  I  see  the  Dutch  are  still  to  be  favourites ; 
though  I  much  apprehend  the  hearts  of  some  warm  friends  may  be  lost 
at  home,  by  endeavouring  to  gain  the  affection  of  those  lukewarm 
neighbours. 


\Clqyne\  Feb.  24,  1746. 

I  AM  heartily  sensible  of  your  loss,  which  yet  admits  of  alleviation,  not 
only  from  the  common  motives  which  have  been  repeated  every  day  for 
Qpwards  of  five  thousand  years,  but  also  from  your  own  peculiar  know- 
ledge of  the  world  and  the  variety  of  distresses  which  occur  in  all  ranks 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest :  I  may  add,  too,  from  the  peculiar  times 
in  which  we  live,  which  seem  to  threaten  still  more  wretched  and  unhappy 
times  to  come. 

*  Atas  parentom,  pejor  avis,  tu]it 
Nof  nequiores,  mox  daturos 
Progeniem  vitiosiorem.' 

Kor  is  it  a  small  advantage  that  you  have  a  peculiar  resource  against 
distress  from  the  gaiety  of  your  own  temper.  Such  is  the  hypochondriac 
melancholy  complexion  of  us  islanders,  that  we  seem  made  of  butter, 
every  accident  makes  such  a  deep  impression  upon  us^ ;  but  those  elastic 
spirits,  which  are  your  birthright,  cause  the  strokes  of  fortune  to  rebound 
without  leaving  a  trace  behind  them ;  though,  for  a  time,  there  is  and 
will  be  a  gloom,  which,  I  agree  with  your  friends,  is  best  dispelled  at  the 
court  and  metropolis,  amidst  a  variety  of  faces  and  amusements. 

«  Cf.  AUiphnm,  Dial.  II.  sect.  17. 
VOL.  IV.  X 


3o6  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

I  wish  I  was  able  to  go  with  you,  and  pay  my  duty  to  the  Lord 
Lieutenant :  but,  alas  I  the  disorder  I  had  this  winter,  and  my  long  re- 
treat, have  disabled  me  for  the  road,  and  disqualified  me  for  a  court. 
But  if  I  see  you  not  in  Dublin,  which  I  wish  I  may  be  aUe  to  do,  I  shall 
hope  to  see  you  at  Cloyne  when  you  can  be  spared  from  better  company. 
These  sudden  cbangings  and  tossings  from  side  to  side  betoken  a  fever 
in  the  state.  But  whatever  ails  the  body  politic,  take  care  of  your  own 
bodUy  health,  and  let  no  anxious  cares  break  in  upon  it. 

We  have  also  in  1746  three  interesting  letters  to  Prior  at 
Dublin.  In  the  first  of  these,  the  letter  signed  Emtulus  {afT9f$s  of 
the  progress  of  the  Young  Chevalier  in  England),  was  enclosed, 
to  be  inserted  in  the  Ihtilim  Jmimml. 

To  the  Publisher, 
Sir, 

As  several  in  this  dangerous  conjuncture  have  undertaken  to  advise 
the  public,  I  am  encouraged  to  hope  that  a  hint  concerning  the  dress  of 
our  soldiers  may  not  be  thought  impertinent. 

Whatever  unnecessarily  spends  the  force  or  strength  of  a  man  lessens 
its  effect  where  it  is  necessary.  The  same  force  that  carries  one  pound 
a  hundred  yards  will  carry  two  pounds  but  fifty  yards ;  and  so  in  pro- 
portion. The  Lody  of  a  man  is  an  engine.  Its  force  should  be  managed 
to  produce  its  full  effect  where  it  is  most  wanted ;  and  ought  not,  there- 
fore, in  t  me  of  action,  to  be  dissipated  on  useless  ornaments.  There  is 
a  weight  on  our  soldiers  neither  offensive  nor  defensive,  but  serving  onlj 
for  parade.  This  I  would  have  removed ;  and  the  loss  will  iiot  be  much, 
if  the  man's  vigour  grows  as  his  pomp  lessens,  speckmur  agendo  being 
the  proper  motto  and  ambition  of  warriors. 

Sleeves,  facings,  caps,  flaps,  tall  caps,  double  breasts,  laces,  frogs, 
cockades,  plaited  shirts,  shoulder-knots,  belts,  and  buttons  more  than 
enough  are  so  many  drawbacks  or  obstacles  to  a  soldier's  exerting  his 
strength  in  the  proper  way,  in  marching,  fighting,  and  pursuing.  Sup- 
pose two  armies  engage  equal  in  strength,  courage,  and  nmnbers,  one 
clad  in  judges  robes,  the  other  in  sailor's  jackets ;  I  need  not  ask  on 
which  side  the  advantage  lies.  The  same  holds  proportionably  in  other 
cases,  where  the  difference  is  less  notorious. 

Our  sailors  seem  the  best  dressed  of  aU  our  forces ;  and  what  is 
sufficient  for  a  sailor  may  serve  for  a  soldier.  Their  dress,  therefore,  I 
would  recommend  to  the  landmen,  or  if  any  other  can  be  contrived  yet 
more  succinct  and  tight ;  that  so  our  men  may  march  and  fight  with  the 


VIII.]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.         307 

least  incumbrance,  their  strength  being  employed  upon  their  arms  and 
their  enemies. 

Soldiers  thus  clad  will  be  more  light,  clever,  and  alert ;  and,  when  the 
eye  hath  been  a  little  used  to  them,  will  look  much  better  than  in  more 
cumbersome  apparel.  I  may  add  too,  that  something  will  be  saved  to 
the  men  in  the  article  of  clothing.     I  am.  Sir,  your  humble  servant, 

EUBULUS. 


Dear  Tom, 

Thb  above  letter  contains  a  piece  of  advice  which  seems  to  me  not 
imseasonable  or  useless.  You  may  make  use  of  Faulkner  for  conveying 
it  to  the  public,  without  any  intimation  of  the  author.  I  send  you  this 
inclosed  bill  on  Swift,  <fec.,  which  you  will  tender  to  them,  and  see  that 
I  have  credit  for  it  in  their  books.  There  is  handed  about  a  lampoon 
against  our  troop,  which  hath  caused  great  indignation  in  the  warriors  of 
Cloyne. 

I  am  informed  that  Dean  Gervais  had  been  looking  for  the  Querist^ 
and  could  not  find  one  in  the  shops,  for  my  Lord  Lieutenant**,  at  his 
desire.  I  wish  you  could  get  one  handsomely  bound  for  his  Excellency ; 
or  at  least  the  last  published  relating  to  the  Bank,  which  consisted  of 
excerpts  out  of  the  Three  Parts  of  the  Querist.  I  wrote  to  you  before  to 
procure  two  copies  of  this  for  his  Excellency  and  Mr.  Liddel.  Adieu, 
dear  Tom.     Your  faithful  humble  servant, 

G.  CLOYNE. 
February,  1746. 


Dear  Tom, 

I  PERCEIVE  the  Earl  of  Chesterfield  is,  whether  absent  or  present,  a 
friend  to  Ireland ;  and  there  could  not  have  happened  a  luckier  incident 
to  this  poor  island  than  the  friendship  of  such  a  man,  when  there  are  so 
few  of  her  own  great  men  who  either  care  or  know  how  to  befriend  her. 
As  my  own  wishes  and  endeavours  (howsoever  weak  and  ineffectual) 
have  had  the  same  tendency,  I  flatter  myself  that  on  this  score  he 
honours  me  with  his  regard,  which  is  an  ample  recompence  for  more 
public  merit  than  I  can  pretend  to.  As  you  transcribed  a  line  from  his 
letter  relating  to  me ;  so,  in  return,  I  send  you  a  line  transcribed  from  a 

•*     Lord    Chesterfield,    who    was    Lord      He  had  Ireland  in  charge  during  the  period 
Lieutenant    from    August    31,    1 745    till-     of  the  Jacobite  rising  in  Scotland. 
April   35,  1746— nine  days  after  Culloden. 

X  2 


3o8  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

letter  of  the  Bishop  of  Gloucester's  relating  to  yon.  I  formeily  told  yoa 
I  had  mentioned  you  to  the  Bishop  when  I  sent  your  scheme.  These 
are  his  words : — *  I  have  had  a  great  deal  of  discourse  with  your  Lord 
Lieutenant.  He  expressed  his  good  esteem  of  Mr.  Prior  and  his 
character,  and  conmiended  him  as  one  who  had  no  view  in  life  but  to  do 
the  utmost  good  he  is  capable  of.  As  he  has  seen  the  scheme,  he  may 
have  opportimity  of  mentioning  it  to  as  many  of  the  cabinet  as  he  pleases. 
But  it  will  not  be  a  fashionable  doctrine  at  this  time.'  So  far  the  Bishop. 
You  are  doubtless  in  the  right,  on  all  proper  occasions,  to  cultivate  a 
correspondence  with  Lord  Chesterfield.  When  you  write,  you  will  per- 
haps let  him  know  in  the  properest  manner  the  thorough  sense  I  have  of 
the  honour  he  does  me  in  his  remembrance,  and  my  concern  at  not 
having  been  able  to  wait  on  him.     Adieu,  dear  Tom, 

G.  CLOYNE. 
June  23,  1746. 

May  we  hope  to  see  you  this  siunmer  ? 


Chyne^Jufy  3,  1746. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  SEND  you  back  my  Letter,  with  the  new  paragraph  to  be  added  at 
the  end,  where  you  see  the  A. 

Lord  Chesterfield's  letter  does  great  honour  both  to  you  and  to  his 
Excellency.  The  nation  should  not  lose  the  opportimity  of  profiting  by 
such  a  Viceroy,  which  indeed  is  a  rarity  not  to  be  met  with  every  season, 
which  grows  not  on  every  tree.  I  hope  your  Society*^  will  find  means  of 
encouraging  particularly  the  two  points  he  reconunends,  glass  and  paper. 
For  the  former  you  would  do  well  to  get  your  workmen  from  Holland 
rather  than  from  Bristol.  You  have  heard  of  the  trick  the  glassmen  of 
Bristol  were  said  to  have  paid  Dr.  Helsham  and  Company. 

My  wife  with  her  compliments  sends  you  a  present*  by  the  Cork 
carrier  who  set  out  yesterday.  It  is  an  offering  of  the  first  fruits  of  her 
painting.  She  began  to  draw  in  last  November,  and  did  not  stick  to  it 
closely,  but  by  way  of  amusement  only  at  leisure  hours.  For  my  part,  I 
think  she  shows  a  most  uncommon  genius ;  but  others  may  be  supposed 
to  judge  more  impartially  than  L  My  two  younger  children  are  be- 
ginning to  employ  themselves  the  same  way.  In  short,  here  are  two  or 
three  families  in  Imokilly  bent  upon  painting ;  and  I  wish  it  was  more 

^  The  Dublin  Society.  subsequent  history  of  which  I  have  not  beeo 

"  A  portrait  of  Berkeley,  afterwards  in      able  to  trace, 
possession  of  the  Rev.  Mervyn  Archdall,  the 


VIII.]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.         309 

general  among  ladies  and  idle  people  as  a  thing  that  may  divert  the 
spleen,  improve  the  manufactures,  and  increase  the  wealth  of  the  nation. 
We  will  endeavour  to  profit  by  our  Lord  Lieutenant's  advice,  and  kindle 
up  new  arts  with  a  spark  of  his  public  spirit. 

Mr.  Simon*  has  wrote  to  me,  desiring  that  I  would  become  a  member' 
of  the  Historico-physical  Society.  I  wish  them  well,  but  do  not  care  to 
list  myself  among  them :  for  in  that  case  I  should  think  myself  obliged  to 
do  somewhat  which  might  interrupt  my  other  studies.  I  must  therefore 
depend  on  you  for  getting  me  out  of  thjg  scrape,  and  hinder  Mr.  Simon  s 
proposing  me,  which  he  inclines  to  do,  at  the  request,  it  seems,  of  the 
Bishop  of  Meath.  And  this,  with  my  service,  will  be  a  sufficient  answer 
to  Mr.  Simon's  letter. 

It  was  in  1746  that  Prior  published  his  Authentic  Narrative  of 
the  Success  of  Tar^water.  Appended  to  this  work  are  two  Letters 
from  Berkeley  to  Prior.  The  Narrative  is  dedicated  to  the  Lord 
Chesterfield,  who,  as  we  have  seen,  had  a  great  regard  for  the 
author  "^^  In  the  following  year  Berkeley  published  a  Letter  on 
the  same  subject  to  Dr.  Hales  '^\ 


Berkeley's  abode  at  Cloyne  was  celebrated  as  a  home  of  the 
arts.  A  contemporary  allusion  illustrates  the  modest  represen- 
tation of  his  letter  to  Prior.  '  The  episcopal  house  [of  Cloyne],' 
says  Smith "^2^  'was  rebuilt  by  Bishop  Crowe,  in  which  he  died. 
His  present  lordship  [Bishop  Berkeley]  has  successfully  trans- 
planted the  polite  arts,  which  before  flourished  in  a  warmer  soil, 
to  this  northern  climate.  Painting  and  music  are  no  longer 
strangers  in  Ireland,  nor  confined  to  Italy.  In  the  episcopal  palace 
of  Cloyne,  the  eye  is  entertained  with  a  great  variety  of  good 
paintings,  as  well  as  the  ear  with  concerts  of  excellent  music. 
There  are  here  some  pieces  of  the  best  masters  j  as  a  Magdalen  by 
Sir  Peter  Paul  Rubens;  some  heads  by  Van  Dyke  and  Kneller, 


•'  Mr.  James  Simon  of  Dublin  was  the 
author  of  the  Essay  on  Irish  Coins^  which 
was  presented  to  the  Pbysico-Historiccd 
Society  of  Dublin,  Dec.  7,  1747,  and  referred 
by  them  to  Dr.  Corbet  (Dean  of  St.  Patrick's), 
and  Harris  (editor  of  Ware).  On  their  re- 
commendation it  was  published.  See  Notes 
and  Queries  for  1857,  p.  9.  Simon  was  of 
French  extraction. 

'^  *  Mr.  Prior,  a  gentleman  who  had  an 
estate   of  about  £500  a  year,  and  what  is 


better  a  communicative  disposition,  without 
selfish  views.  As  he  had  every  scheme  at 
heart  which  he  thought  for  the  advantage 
o(  his  country,  and  was  an  intimate  friend 
of  Bishop  Berkeley,  he  caught  his  enthu- 
siasm, and  became  a  public  advocate  of  tar- 
water.'    Mziy't  Life  0/ Cbester/ield. 

'1  See  Works,  vol.  III.  p.  489.  Berkeley's 
two  Letters  to  Prior  are  also  given  in  the 
same  volume. 

"  History  o/Cork,  vol.  I.  p.  139. 


3IO 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


besides  several  good  paintings  performed  in  the  house; — an 
example  so  happy  that  it  has  diffused  itself  into  the  adjacent 
gentlemen's  houses,  and  there  is  at  present  a  pleasing  emulation 
^raised  in  this  country  to  vie  with  each  other  in  these  kinds  of  per- 
formances.* The  love  of  art  as  well  as  the  love  of  truth,  which 
distinguished  Berkeley's  youth,  followed  him  into  his  contemplative 
old  age.  He  had  himself  no  ear  for  music,  but  he  kept  an  Italian 
master  in  the  house  for  the  instruction  of  his  children  on  the 
bass-viol.  And  a  weekly  concert  at  the  bishop's  was  one  of 
the  favourite  entertainments  of  the  neighbouring  families  of 
Imokilly^^. 

A  letter  to  Prior,  later  in  the  same  year,  speaks  of  episcopal 
employment  and  preferment,  and  alludes  to  the  *  Oxford  Scheme  :*—  * 

ClqyrUy  Sept,  la,  1746. 
Dear  Tom, 

I  AM  just  returned  from  a  tour  through  my  diocese  of  130  miles, 
almost  shaken  to  pieces. 

What  you  write  of  Bishop  Stone's  preferment  is  highly  probable.  For 
myself,  though  his  Excellency  the  Lord  Lieutenant  might  have  a  better 
opinion  of  me  than  I  deserved ;  yet  it  was  not  likely  that  he  would  make 
an  Irishman  Primate^*. 


^  Berkeley  retained  the  famous  Pasqui- 
lino  four  years  in  the  palace  at  Cloyne 
to  teach  his  children  music.  George  Ber- 
keley *  was  esteemed  the  finest  gentleman- 
performer  on  the  violoncelk)  in  England; 
as  his  brother  [William],  who  died  at  six- 
teen, was  a  wonderfully  fine  performer  on 
the  violin.  Bishop  Berkeley  had  a  con- 
cert at  his  house  every  evening  in  winter, 
when  he  did  not  go  from  home.  Signor 
Pasquilino  was  to  have  a  fine  concert  at 
Cork.  One  day  at  dinner  the  Bishop  said, 
•*  Well,  Pasquilino,  I  have  got  rid  of  a  great 
many  tickets  for  you  among  my  neighbours, 
to  Lord  Inchiquin,  Lord  Shannon,  Mr.  Lum- 
ley,  &c."  To  which  Pasquilino  bowing 
said — **  May  God  pichU  your  Lordship,  I 
pray  him  !*'  All  the  company  laughed  im- 
moderately. The  poor  Italian  said,  **  Veil,  in 
de  grammar  dat  my  Lord  gave  me  to  teach 
me  Inglish,  it  is  printed,  pickle^  to  keep 
from  decay."  Bishop  Berkeley  invited  his 
brother,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Robert  Berkeley 
(father  of  the  Dean  of  Tuam,  and  of  Mrs: 
Hamilton,  lady  of  Sackville  Hamilton,  Esq.), 
to  send  his  seven  children,  one  fixed  evening 


in  each  week,  to  learn  music  and  dandng  of 
bis  children's  masters.'  Pr^ac9  to  Mtmck 
Berkeley's  Poems,  p.  ccccxi.  In  the  dearth 
of  anecdotes  iUustratiTe  of  Berkeley  one  is 
tempted  to  gather  these  crumbs. 

"    The   Primacy   was    vacated   by  the 
death  of  Archbishop   Hoadly  (iMrothcr  of 
Bishop  Hoadly)  in  July  1 746.     His  saoces- 
sor  was  Dr.  George  Stone,  an  Englishman, 
educated   at   Christ   Church,  Oxford,  who 
was  in  succession  Dean  of  Ferns,  and  of 
Derry;  Bishop   of  Ferns,  of  Kildare,  and 
of  Derry;  and  who  was  raised  to  the  Pri- 
macy March  13,  1747,  when  he  was  about 
forty  years  of  age — a  singularly  rapid  cwine 
of  promotion.     He  was  more  known  as  s 
sfinilar  politician  than  as  an  ecclesiastic ;  and 
also  on  account  of  his  personah  grace  and 
dignity,  which  occasioned  his  being  deag- 
nated — *  the  beauty  of  holiness.'     He  ruled 
the   Irish  Church  till   his   death,   in  Lon- 
don, in  1764.     A  character  of  Archbishop 
Stone  is  given  by  Campbell,  in  his  Pbilo- 
sopbical  Survey  of  Ireland;  also  in  Mant's 
History. 


Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne. 

Tlie  truth  is,  I  bave  a  sclieme  of  my  own  for  this  long  lime  past,  inl 
which  1  propose  more  satisfaciion  and  enjoyment  of  myself  than  1  could  | 
in  thai  high  sialion,  which  I  neither  solicited,  nor  so  much  as  wished  for. 

It  is  Inie.  the  Primacy  or  Archbishopric  of  Dublin,  if  offered,  might 
h»ve  templed  me  by  a  greater  opportunity  of  doing  good ;  but  [here  is 
no  aiher  preferment  in   the  kingdom  to  be    desired  upon  any  other 
account  than  a  greater  income,  which  would  not  tempi  me  to  remove  i 
froBi  Cloyne.  and  set  aside  my  Osford  scheme ;  which,  though  delayed  I 
by  the  illness  of  my  son,  yet  I  am  as  intent  upon  ii,  and  as  much  j 
resolved  as  ever. 

I  sun  glad  you  have  a  prospect  of  disposing  of  my  debenlurea  soon. 
Adieu.     Youf  affectionate  humble  servant, 

G.  CLOYNE. 

This  letter  to  Gervais  glances  as  usual  at  politics : — 

\C(oym\,  N<n\  8,  1746. 

YocR  letter,  with  news  from  the  Castle,  found  me  in  bed,  confined  by  I 
the  gouL     In  answer  to  which  news  1  can  only  say,  thai  1  neither  expect  [ 
nor  wish  for  any  dignity  higher  than  I  am  encumbered  with  at  present. 
That  which  more  nearly  concerns  me  is  my  credit,  which  I  am  glad  lo 
End  so  well  supported  by  Admiral  Lestock.     I  had  promised  you  that 
before  the  first  of  November  he  would  take  King  Lewis  by  the  beard. 
Now    Quimpercorrentin,    Quimperiay,    and    Quimperen,   being    certain 
extreroe  parts  or  excrescences  of  his  kingdom,  may  not  improperly  be 
(tyled  the  beard  of  France.     In  proof  of  his  having  been  there,  he  has 
phmdered  the  wardrobes  of  the  peasants,  and  imported  a  great  number 
of  old  petticoats,  waistcoats,  wooden  shoes,  and  one  shirt,  all  which  v 
actually  sold  at  Cove  :  the  shirt  was  bought  by  a  man  of  this  town  ft 
groat.     And  if  you  won't  believe  me,  come  and  believe  your  own  eyes. 
Id  case  you  doubt  either  the  facts  or  tlie  reasonings,  I  am  ready  to  make   I 
ibcm  good,  being  now  well  on  my  feet,  and  longing  to  triiunph  over 
you  at  Cloyne,  which  1  hope  wiU  be  soon. 

The  letteis  which  follow,  written  to  Prior,  then  at  Dublin, 
January,  Fcbmary  and  March,  1747,  bring  almost  the  only  light   1 
that  fells  on  Berkeley  in  the  course  of  that  year : — 

Dear  Tom. 
Voc»  manner  of  accounting  for  t!ie  weather  seems  to  have  r 
;  and  yet  there  still  remains  something  unaccountable,  viz.  why  there 


312 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


should  be  no  rain  in  the  regions  mentioned  If  the  bulk,  figure,  situation, 
and  motion  of  the  earth  are  given,  and  the  luminaries  remain  die  same, 
should  there  not  be  a  certain  cycle  of  the  seasons  ever  returning  at 
certain  periods  ?  To  me  it  seems,  that  the  exhalations  perpetually  sent 
up  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth  have  no  small  share  in  the  weather; 
that  nitrous  exhalations  produce  cold  and  frost ;  and  that  the  same  causes 
which  produce  earthquakes  within  the  earth  produce  storms  above  it 
Such  are  the  variable  causes  of  our  weather ;  which,  if  it  proceeded  only 
from  fixed  and  given  causes,  the  changes  thereof  would  be  as  regular  as 
the  vicissitudes  of  the  da3rs,  or  the  return  of  eclipses.  I  have  writ  this 
extempore,  Vakat  quantum  vaUre  potest. 

In  my  last  I  mentioned  my  cousin's  death.  My  brothers  and  I 
are  his  heirs  at  law.  I  know  nothing  of  his  circumstances.  He 
has  been  captain  of  a  man  of  war  for  about  twenty  years,  and 
must  have  left  something.  It  is  true  he  "always  commanded  great 
ships,  which  have  the  fewest  opportunities  of  getting,  his  very  first 
having  been  a  sixty  gun  ship :  but  stiU,  as  I  said,  there  must  be  some- 
thing probably  worth  looking  after.  I  would  therefore  be  advised  by 
you  what  course  to  take.  Would  it  not  be  right  to  employ  your  friend 
the  solicitor,  Mr.  Levinge,  to  enquire  at  the  late  Captain  George 
Berkeley's  house  in  Lisle  street,  and  see  what  is  become  of  his  effects  ? 
Also  to  examine  whether  he  has  left  a  Will,  and  what  it  contains  ^*  ?  If 
this  be  the  right  way,  pray  lose  no  time.  Adieu,  dear  Tom.  Your 
affectionate  humble  servant, 

G.  CLOYNE. 

Cloyniy  Feb,  6,  1746 — 7. 

Dear  Tom,  Desire  your  friend  Mr.  Levinge,  without  delay,  to  enter  a 
caveat,  in  my  name,  in  Doctor's  Commons,  against  any  one's  taking  out 
administration. 


Clqyne,  Feb,  9,  1746 — 7. 
Dear  Tom, 

You  ask  me  if  I  had  no  hints  from  England  about  the  Primacy.    I 
can  only  say,  that  last  week  I  had  a  letter  from  a  person  of  no  mean 


"  I  have  obtained  from  Doctors*  Com- 
mons a  copy  of  Captain  George  Ber- 
keley's Will,  referred  to  in  this  and  the 
following  letters.  It  is  dated  November  19, 
1746,  and  it  was  proved  on  the  a3rd  of 
January,  1747.  He  describes  himself  as  of 
*  Lisle  Street,  Westminster.'  He  bequeaths 
^100  *  to  my  cousin  Captain  William  Ber- 


keley.' The  Earl  and  Countess  of  Berkeley, 
and  Lord  Dursley,  receive  small  bequests. 
There  is  no  reference  to  Bishop  Berkeky, 
nor  any  light  upon  the  relationship  of 
Captain  George  Berkeley  to  Earl  Berkeley. 
Brome  and  Young  are  mentioned  as  exe- 
cutors, and  his  mortgage  is  left  to  the 
former.     There  were  two  witnesses. 


III.]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.        313 

ink  in  England,  who  seemed  to  wonder  that  he  could  not  find  I  had 
itertained  any  thoughts  of  the  Primacy,  while  so  many  others  of  our 
snch  were  so  earnestly  contending  for  it.  He  added,  that  he  hoped  I 
ould  not  take  it  ill  if  my  friends  wished  me  in  that  station.  My  answer 
as,  that  I  am  so  far  from  soliciting,  that  I  do  not  even  wish  for  it ;  that 
do  not  think  myself  the  fittest  man  for  that  high  post ;  and  that  there- 
ire  I  neither  have,  nor  ever  will,  ask  it. 

I  hear  it  reported  that  my  cousin  died  worth  above  eighteen  thousand 
ounds.  He  had  spent  the  summer  at  the  Earl  of  Berkeley's  hunting- 
sat  in  Wiltshire.  He  came  to  town  in  an  ill  state  of  health,  which  he 
oped  Dr.  Mead  would  have  set  right,  but  was  mistaken.  Had  I  known 
is  illness,  perhaps  it  might  have  been  better  for  him.  The  Earl  of 
lerkele/s  agent,  one  Mr.  Young,  who  was  also  my  cousin's  agent,  pre- 
mds  to  be  executor,  with  another  gentleman,  one  Mr.  Brome.  By  all 
leans  take  the  readiest  method,  that  some  person  whom  you  know  at 
x)ndon  gets  a  sight  of  the  original  Will ;  and  you  will  do  a  good  service 

),  dear  Tom,  your  faithful  servant, 

G.  CLOYNE. 

I  am  unknowing  in  these  matters  ;  but  think  that  the  best  advice  how 
3  proceed. 


Cloyne,  Feb.  10,  1746 — 7. 
Dear  Tom, 

Ix  my  other  letter  that  comes  to  you  this  post,  I  forgot  to  say  what  I 
low  think  very  necessary,  viz.  that  you  must  be  so  good  as  to  get  your 
ricnd  by  all  means  to  send  a  copy  of  the  Will,  written  in  a  close  hand, 
>y  post,  without  loss  of  time. 

In  a  letter  from  England,  which  I  told  you  came  a  week  ago,  it  was 

aid  that  several  of  our  Irish  bishops  were  eamesdy  contending  for  the 

^rimacy.     Pray  who  are  they  ?     I  thought  Bishop  Stone  was  only  talked 

)f  at  present.     I  ask  this  question  merely  out  of  curiosity,  and  not  from 

iny  interest,  I  assure  you ;  for  I  am  no  man's  rival  or  competitor  in  this 

natter.     I  am  not  in  love  with  feasts,  and  crowds,  and  visits,  and  late 

lours,  and  strange  faces,  and  a  hurry  of  affairs  often  insignificant.     For 

ny  own  private  satisfaction,  I  had  rather  be  master  of  ray  time  than  wear 

I  diadem.     I  repeat  these  things  to  you,  that  I  may  not  seem  to  have 

leclined  all  steps  to  the  Primacy  out  of  singularity,  or  pride,  or  stupidity, 

ml  from  solid  motives.     As  for  the  argument  from  the  opportunity  of 

oing  good,  I  observe  that  duty  obliges  men  in  high  stations  not  to 

ecline  occasions  of  doing  good ;  but  duty  doth  not  oblige  men  to  solicit 

ich  high  stations.     Adieu.     Yours, 

G.  CLOYNE. 


314  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkel^r-  [ch. 

Clqytu^  Feb.  19,  1746 — 7. 
Dear  Tom, 

It  was  very  agreeable  to  hear  you  had  taken  proper  measures  to 
procure  a  copy  of  my  cousin's  Will,  and  to  enter  the  caveat 

The  ballad  you  sent  has  mirth  in  it,  with  a  political  sting  in  the  tail ; 
but  the  speech  of  Van  Haaren  is  excellent.  I  believe  it  Lord  Chester- 
field's. 

We  have  at  present,  and  for  these  two  days  {>ast  had,  frost  and  some 
snow.  Our  military-men  are  at  length  sailed  from  Cork  harbour.  We 
hear  they  are  designed  for  Flanders. 

I  must  desire  you  to  make,  at  leisure,  the  most  exact  and  distinct  inquiry 
you  can  into  the  characters  of  the  Seiuor  Fellows,  as  to  their  behaviour, 
temper,  piety,  parts,  and  learning ;  also  to  make  a  list  of  them,  with  each 
man's  character  annexed  to  his  name.  I  think  it  of  so  great  consequence 
to  the  public  to  have  a  good  Provost  that  I  would  willingly  look  before 
hand,  and  stir  a  little,  to  prepare  an  interest,  or  at  least  to  contribute  mj 
mite,  where  I  properly  may,  in  favpur  of  a  worthy  man,  to  fill  that  post 
when  it  shall  become  vacant. 

Dr.  Hales,  in  a  letter  to  me,  has  made  very  honourable  mention  of  you. 
It  would  not  be  amiss  if  you  should  correspond  with  him,  especially  for 
the  sake  of  granaries  and  prisons.     Adieu.    Yours, 

GEORGE  CLOYNE 


Clqytu,  Feb,  20,  1746 — 7 
Dear  Tom, 

Though  the  situation  of  tie  earth  with  respect  to  the  sun  changes, 
yet  the  changes  are  fixed  and  regular :  if  therefore  this  were  the  cause  of 
the  variation  of  winds,  the  variation  of  the  winds  must  be  regular,  1.  ^. 
regularly  returning  in  a  cycle.  To  me  it  seems  that  the  variable  cause 
of  the  variable  winds  are  the  subterraneous  fires,  which,  constantly  burn- 
ing, but  altering  their  operation  according  to  the  various  quantity  or  kind 
of  combustible  materials  they  happen  to  meet  with,  send  up  exhalations 
more  or  less  of  this  or  that  species ;  which,  diversely  fermenting  in  the 
atmosphere,  produce  uncertain  variable  winds  and  tempests.  This,  if  I 
mistake  not,  is  the  true  solution  of  that  crux. 

As  to  the  papers  about  petrifications  which  I  sent  to  you  and  Mr. 
Simon,  I  do  not  well  remember  the  contents.  But  be  you  so  good  as 
to  look  them  over,  and  show  them  to  some  other  of  your  Society ;  and 
if,  after  this,  you  shall  think  them  worth  publishing  in  your  collections, 


VIII.]      Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne,         31 5 

you  may  do  as  you  please :  otherwise  I  would  not  have  things  hastily 
and  carelessly  written  thrust  into  public  view. 

As  to  your  query,  there  were  twa  mad  women  recovered,  it  seems,  by 
a  method  we  made  use  of,  though  not,  as  you  have  been  told,  by  sweat- 
ing.    When  you  come,  you  shall  know  the  particulars     Yours, 

GEORGE  CLOYNE. 


CloytUy  March  23,  1746 — 7. 
Dear  Tom, 

These  is  another  query  which  arises  on  the  WiU,  viz,  whether  a  mort- 
gage be  not  a  freehold,  and  whether  it  can  be  bequeathed  without  three 
witnesses  ?  This,  and  the  two  other  queries  of  the  residue,  &c.,  I  would 
have  stated  to  Mr.  Kelly  and  my  wife's  cousin.  He  is  a  very  sensible 
man,  and  would  consider  the  matter,  as  a  friend,  more  attentively  than 
those  who,  of  greater  name,  might  offer  their  first  thoughts.  Pray  give 
him  the  usual  fee  for  the  best  lawyer ;  and  if  he  refuses  to  take  it,  tell 
him  you  cannot  take  his  advice  if  he  does  not  take  his  fee. 

As  to  what  you  say,  that  the  Primacy  would  have  been  a  glorious 
thing ;  for  my  part  I  could  not  see  (all  things  considered)  the  glory  of 
wearing  the  name  of  Primate  in  these  days,  or  of  getting  so  much  money ; 
a  thing  every  tradesman  in  London  may  get  if  he  pleases.  I  should  not 
choose  to  be  Primate  in  pity  to  my  children  ;  and  for  doing  good  to  the 
world,  I  imagine  I  may  upon  the  whole  do  as  much  in  a  lower  station. 
Adieu,  dear  Tom.     Yours  affectionately, 

G.  CLOYNE. 

1  have  discovered  the  following  letter  to  Prior  in  the  Vhilo- 
sophical  Transactions  (No.  480).  It  is  annexed  to  a  communication 
from  Mr.  James  Simon  to  the  Royal  Society,  '  Concerning  the 
Petrifactions  of  Lough  Neagh  in  Ireland/  which  was  read  in  the 
Society  on  the  9th  of  February,  1747.  The  property  of  turning 
wood  into  stone  had  long  been  attributed  to  the  water  of 
Lough  Neagh.  The  tradition  was  confirmed  by  Simon,  who  had 
previously  sent  his  paper  to  the  Bishop,  through  Prior.  This 
explains  the  allusion  to  ^  papers  about  petrifactions.'  The  letter 
is  another  illustration  of  Berkeley's  interest  in  the  observations 
and  speculations  of  natural  science,  which  5/r/V  had  so  lately 
exemplified  -, — 


3i6  Life  aptd  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

Clqyntf  May  20,  1746. 
Dear  Sir, 

I  HKRE  send  you  back  the  curious  Dissertation  of  Mr.  Simon,  whidi 
I  have  perused  with  pleasure ;  and  though  variety  of  avocations  gives  me 
little  time  for  remarks  on  a  subject  so  much  out  of  my  way,  I  shall  never- 
theless venture  to  give  my  thoughts  briefly  upon  it,  espedaily  since  the 
author  hath  been  pleased  to  invite  me  to  it  by  a  letter. 

The  author  seems  to  put  it  out  of  doubt,  that  there  is  a  petrifying 
quality  both  in  the  Lake  and  in  the  adjacent  earth.  What  he  remarks 
on  the  unfrozen  spots  in  the  Lake  is  curious,  and  fiimisheth  a  sufficient 
answer  to  those,  who  would  deny  any  petrifying  virtue  to  be  in  the 
water,  from  experiments  not  succeeding  in  some  parts  of  it;  since 
nothing  but  chance  could  have  directed  to  the  proper  places,  which 
probably  were  those  unfrozen  parts. 

Stones  have  been  thought  by  some  to  be  organized  vegetables,  and  to 
be  produced  from  seed.  To  me  it  seems  that  stones  are  vegetables 
unorganized.  Other  vegetables  are  nourished  and  g^ow  by  a  solution  of 
salt  attracted  into  their  tubes  or  vessels.  And  stones  grow  by  the  accre- 
tion of  salts,  which  often  shoot  into  angular  and  regular  figures.  This 
appears  in  the  formation  of  crystals  on  the  Alps :  and  that  stones  are 
formed  by  the  simple  attraction  and  accretion  of  salts,  appears  in  the 
tartar  on  the  inside  of  a  claret-vessel,  and  especially  in  the  formation  of 
a  stone  in  the  human  body. 

The  air  is  in  many  places  impregnated  with  such  salts.  I  have  seen 
at  Agrigentiun  in  Sicily  the  pillars  of  stone  in  an  ancient  temple  corroded 
and  consumed  by  the  air,  while  the  shells  which  entered  into  the  compo- 
sition of  the  stone  remained  entire  and  untouched. 

I  have  elsewhere  obser\'ed  marble  to  be  consumed  in  the  same  manner; 
and  it  is  common  to  see  softer  kinds  of  stone  moulder  and  dissolve 
merely  by  the  air  acting  as  a  menstruum.  Therefore  the  air  may  be 
presumed  to  contain  many  such  salts,  or  stony  particles. 

Air,  acting  as  a  roenstruimi  in  the  cavities  of  the  earth,  may  become 
saturated  (in  like  manner  as  above-ground)  with  such  salts  as,  ascending 
in  vapours  or  exhalations,  may  petrify  wood,  whether  lying  in  the  ground 
adjacent,  or  in  the  bottom  of  the  Lake.  This  is  confirmed  by  the 
author's  own  remark  on  the  bath  called  the  Green  Pillars  in  Hungar). 
The  insinuating  of  such  salts  into  the  wood  seems  also  confirmed  by  the 
author's  having  observed  minute  hexagonal  cr>'stals  in  the  woody  part  of 
the  petrifactions  of  Lough-Neagh. 

A  petrifying  quality  or  virtue  shews  itself  in  all  parts  of  this  terraqueous 
globe — in  water,  earth,  and  sand ;  in  Tartary,  for  instance,  and  Afric,  in 


VIII.]      Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.         3 1 7 

the  bodies  of  most  sorts  of  animals :  it  is  even  known  that  a  child  hath 
been  petrified  in  its  mother's  womb.  Osteocolla  g^ows  in  the  land,  and 
coral  in  the  sea.  Grottoes,  springs,  lakes,  rivers,  are  in  many  parts 
remarkable  for  this  same  quality.  No  man  therefore  can  question  the 
possilnlity  of  such  a  thing  as  petrified  wood ;  though  perhaps  the  petri- 
fying quality  might  not  be  originally  in  the  earth  or  water,  but  in  the 
vapour  or  steam  impregnated  with  saline  or  stony  particles. 

Perhaps  the  petrifaction  of  wood  may  receive  some  light  from  con- 
sidering amber,  which  is  dug  up  in  the  King  of  Prussia's  dominions. 

I  have  written  these  hasty  lines  in  no  small  hurry ;  and  send  them  to 
jTou,  not  from  an  opinion,  that  they  contain  anything  worth  imparling, 
but  merely  in  compliance  with  your  and  Mr.  Simon's  request. 

And  yet,  before  I  have  done  I  must  needs  add  another  remark,  which 
may  be  useful  for  the  better  understanding  of  the  nature  of  stone.  In 
the  vulgar  definition,  it  is  said  to  be  a  fossil  incapable  of  fusion.  I  have 
nevertheless  known  stone  to  be  melted,  and  when  cold  to  become  stone 
again.  Such  is  that  stuff,  by  the  natives  called  Sciara^  which  runs  down 
in  liquid  burning  torrents  from  the  craters  of  Mount  ^tna,  and  which, 
when  cold  and  hard,  I  have  seen  hewed  and  employed  at  Catania  and 
other  places  adjacent.  It  probably  contains  mineral  and  metallic  par- 
ticles ;  being  a  ponderous,  hard,  grey  stone,  used  for  the  most  part  in 
the  basements  and  coinage  of  buildings. 

Hence  it  should  seem  not  impossible  for  stone  to  be  cast  or  run  into 
the  shape  of  columns,  vases,  statues,  or  relievo's ;  which  experiment  may 
perhaps,  some  time  or  other,  be  attempted  by  the  curious ;  who,  follow- 
ing where  nature  has  shewn  the  way,  may  (possibly  by  the  aid  of  certain 
salts  and  minerals)  arrive  at  a  method  for  melting  and  running  stone, 
both  to  their  own  profit,  and  that  of  the  public  ^^ 

I  am,  dear  Sir, 

Your  most  humble  servant, 

G.  CLOYNE. 

The  following  anonymous  letter,  the  manuscript  of  which  is 
in  Berkeley's  writing,  appeared  in  the  Gentlemat^ s  Magazine^"^ .  It 
is  connected  with  the  physical  speculations  about  earthquakes  in 

'^  StmoQ,  in  a  note,  confirms  this  by  the  Vesuvius  in   1 7 1 7,  'as  it  appeared  to  that 

icftimony  of  *  a  relation  of  his  in  France,*  diligent   observer  of  nature,    Mr.  Berkeley, 

vho  had  known  of  '  run '  stone  pillars.  now  Bishop  of  Cloyne,'  given  to  the  Pbilo§. 

'^  VoL  XX.  p.  166.     The  same  number  Tram,  by  Dr.  Arbuthnot.     Cf.  p.  78. 
xmtains   the  account    of  the   Eruption    of 


3 1 8  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

the  letters  to  Prior,  and  refers  also  to  his  tour  in  Sicily  in  1718, 
as  well  as  to  the  famous  earthquake  at  Catania: — 

To  the  PMiihtr. 
Sir, 

Haying  observed  it  hath  been  offered  as  a  reason  to  persuade  the 
public  that  the  late  shocks  felt  in  and  about  London  were  not  caused  by 
an  earthquake,  because  the  motion  was  lateral,  which  it  is  asserted  the 
motion  of  an  earthquake  never  is,  I  take  upon  me  to  affirm  the  contrary. 
I  have  myself  felt  an  earthquake  at  Messina  in  the  year  17 18,  when  the 
motion  was  horizontal  or  lateral  It  did  no  harm  in  that  city,  but  threw 
down  several  houses  about  a  day's  journey  from  thence. 

We  are  not  to  think  the  late  shocks  merely  an  air-quake  (as  they  call 
it),  on  account  of  signs  and  changes  in  the  air,  such  being  usually 
observed  to  attend  earthquakes.  There  is  a  correspondence  between  the 
subterraneous  air  and  our  atmosphere.  It  is  probable  that  storms  or 
great  concussions  of  the  air  do  often,  if  not  always  owe  their  origin  to 
vapours  or  exhalations  issuing  from  below. 

I  remember  to  have  heard  Count  Tezzani,  at  Catania  say,  that  some 
hours  before  the  memorable  earthquake  of  169a,  which  overturned  the 
whole  city,  he  observed  a  line  extended  in  the  air  (proceeding,  as  he 
judged,  from  exhalations  poised  and  suspended  in  the  atmosphere) ;  also 
that  he  heard  a  hollow  frightful  murmur  about  a  minute  before  the  shock. 
Of  25,000  inhabitants  18,000  absolutely  perished,  not  to  mention  others 
who  were  miserably  bruised  and  wounded.  There  did  not  escape  so 
much  as  one  single  house.  The  streets  were  narrow  and  the  buildings 
high,  so  there  was  no  safety  in  running  into  the  streets ;  but  in  the  first 
tremor  (which  happens  a  small  space,  perhaps  a  few  minutes,  before  the 
downfall),  they  found  it  the  safest  way  to  stand  under  a  door-case,  or  at 
the  corner  of  the  house. 

The  Count  was  dug  out  of  the  ruins  of  his  own  house,  which  had 
overwhelmed  above  twenty  persons,  only  seven  whereof  were  got  out 
alive.  Though  he  rebuilt  his  house  with  stone,  yet  he  ever  after  lay  in  a 
small  adjoining  apartment  made  of  reeds  plastered  over.  Catania  was 
rebuilt  more  regular  and  beautiful  than  ever.  The  houses  indeed  are 
lower,  and  the  streets  broader  than  before,  for  security  against  future 
shocks.  By  their  account,  the  first  shock  seldom  or  never  doth  the  mis- 
chief, but  the  repliches  (as  they  term  them)  are  most  to  be  dreaded.  The 
earth,  I  was  told,  moved  up  and  down  like  the  boiling  of  a  pot,  terra 
hollente  di  sotto  in  sopra,  to  use  their  own  expression.  This  sort  of  sub- 
sultive  motion  is  ever  accounted  the  most  dangerous. 


viil]      Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.        319 

PHny,  in  the  second  book  of  his  natural  history,  observes,  that  all  earth- 
quakes are  attended  with  a  great  stillness  of  the  air.  The  same  was 
observed  at  Catania.  Pliny  further  observes,  that  a  murmuring  noise 
precedes  the  earthquake.  He  also  remarks,  that  there  is  signum  in  ccela, 
pracediique  nuiu  futuro^  aut  inierdiu^  aut  patdo  post  occasum  sereno,  cm 
tenuis  tinea  nubis  in  tongum  por recta  spatium ;  which  agrees  with  what 
was  observed  by  Count  Tezzani  and  others  at  Catania.  And  all  these 
things  plainly  show  the  mistake  of  those  who  surmise  that  noises  and 
signs  in  the  air  do  not  belong  to  or  betoken  an  earthquake,  but  only  an 
air-quake. 

The  naturalist  above  cited,  speaking  of  the  earth,  saith,  that  varie 
quatituTj  up  and  down  sometimes,  at  others  from  side  to  side.  He  adds, 
that  the  effects  are  very  various :  cities,  one  while  demolished,  another 
swallowed  up;  sometimes  overwhelmed  by  water,  at  other  times  con- 
sumed by  fire  bursting  from  the  earth.  One  while  the  gulf  remains  open 
and  yawning ;  another,  the  sides  close,  not  leaving  the  least  trace  or  sign 
of  the  city  swallowed  up. 

Britain  is  an  v&hxi'di^maritinia  autem  maximi  qtiatiuntur,  saith  Pliny — 
and  in  this  island  are  many  mineral  and  sulphureous  waters.  I  see  no- 
thing in  the  natural  constitution  of  London,  or  the  parts  adjacent,  that 
should  render  an  earthquake  impossible  or  improbable.  Whether  there 
be  any  thing  in  the  moral  state  thereof  that  should  exempt  it  from  that 
fear,  I  leave  others  to  judge.     I  am  your  humble  servant, 

A.  B. 

After  March  1 747  we  lose  sight  of  Berkeley  for  nearly  two  years. 
His  extant  correspondence  is  a  blank  for  the  remainder  of  that 
year,  and  all  through  1 748. 

The  domestic  circles  in  both  the  vales  of  Imokilly  were  saddened 
in  March  1748,  by  the  death  of  Dr.  Robert  Berkeley's  wife  at 
Ballinacurra. 

Early  in  1749,  Berkeley  reappears  in  this  pleasant  fragment  of  a 
letter  to  Prior,  who  had  lent  him  some  pictures : — 

Cloyne^  Feb.  2,  1749. 

Three  days  ago  we  received  the  box  of  pictures.  The  two  men's 
heads  with  ruffs  are  well  done ;  the  third  is  a  copy,  and  ill-coloured : 
they  are  all  Flemish :  so  is  the  woman,  which  is  also  very  well  painted, 


320 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley . 


[CH. 


though  it  hath  not  the  beauty  and  freedom  of  an  Italian  pencil  The 
two  Dutch  pictures,  containing  animals,  are  well  done  as  to  the  animals: 
but  the  human  figures  and  sky  are  ill  done.  The  two  pictures  of  ruins 
are  very  well  done,  and  are  ItaliaiL  My  son  William  had  already  copied 
two  other  pictures  of  the  same  kind,  and  by  the  same  hand.  He  and 
his  sister  are  both  employed  in  copying  pictures  at  present ;  which  shaQ 
be  dispatched  as  soon  as  possible ;  after  which  they  will  set  about  some 
of  yours.  Their  stint,  on  account  of  health,  is  an  hour  and  half  a  day 
for  p>ainting.  So  I  doubt  two  months  will  not  suffice  for  copying :  bnt 
no  time  shall  be  lost,  and  great  care  taken  of  your  pictures,  for  which 
we  hold  ourselves  much  obliged. 

Our  Round  Tower  stands  where  it  did ;  but  a  little  stone  arched  vault 
on  the  top  was  cracked,  and  must  be  repaired :  the  bell  also  was  thrown 
down,  and  broke  its  way  through  three  boarded  stories,  but  remains 
entire.  The  door  was  shivered  into  many  small  pieces,  and  dispersed; 
and  there  was  a  stone  forced  out  of  the  wall  Tlie  whole  damage,  it  is 
thought,  will  not  amount  to  twenty  pounds.  The  thunder-clap  was  bjr 
far  the  greatest  that  I  ever  heard  in  Ireland". 

Berkeley's  Ward  te  the  Wise^  one  of  the  most  characteristic  of  his 
performances,  belongs  to  1749.  It  condenses  the  spirit  of  the 
Querist ^  in  the  form  of  an  appeal  to  the  Roman  Catholic  clergy  of 
Ireland  to  preach  the  gospel  of  work  and  self-reliance  to  their 
flocks.      It  recals  some  of  the  tones  which   thirty  years  before 


^  This  thanderstorm  was  on  the  loth  of 
Janiury.  The  following  is  a  more  detailed 
account : — •  After  several  weeks  of  tem- 
pestuous weather,  and  continual  riolent  rain, 
on  Monday  night,  being  the  9th  of  January 
1 749,  were  seen  sevanl  flashes  of  lightning, 
attended  ^ith  frequent  claps  of  thunder, 
which  considerably  increasing,  00  the  fol- 
lowing night,  a  flash  of  lightning  passed 
from  west  to  east  in  a  direct  line  through 
this  county.  It  first  killed  some  cows  to 
the  south  of  Cork,  and  in  its  progress  struck 
the  Round  Tower  of  the  Cathedral  of 
Cloyne.  It  first  rent  the  vaulted  arch  at  the 
top,  tumbled  down  the  bell  and  three  lofts, 
and  passing  perpendicubrly  to  the  internal 
floor,  which  is  about  eight  feet  higher  than  the 
outward  foundation,  the  protruded  column 
of  air  or  lightning,  or  both  together,  by  the 
igneous  matter  bursting  and  expanding  and 
not  finding  sufficient  room,  vented  itself  by 
a  violent  explosion,  forced  its  way  through 
one  side  of  the  Tower,  and  drove  the  stones 


through  the  roof  of  an  adjacent  stabling— 
the  door,  though  secured  by  a  strong  iroo 
lock,  was  thrown  above  sixty  jrards  distance, 
into  the  churchyard,  and  shattered  to  pieces, 
whidi  passage  for  the  air  greatly  contributed 
to  the  saving  of  the  Tower.  A  few  pigeons 
that  frequented  the  top  of  the  steeple  were 
scorched  to  death,  not  a  feather  of  them 
being  left  unsinged.'— Smith's  HiU,  ofCvi, 
voL  II.  p.  397.  A  similar  account  of  tlus 
accident  is  given  in  Bishop  Beimet's  MS., 
where  it  is  added  that,  with  the  same  bad 
taste  which  distinguishes  all  the  architecture 
of  that  era,  the  vaulted  stone  roof  of  the 
Tower  was  never  repaired,  but  the  height 
was  lowered  more  than  six  feet,  and  a  vile 
battlement,  in  imitation  of  the  worst  English 
churches,  substituted  in  its  stead — aU  which 
may  still  be  seen.  The  Round  Tower  of 
Cloyne,  which  is  9  a  feet  high,  is  one  of  the 
best  in  Ireland.  The  bell  oscd  for  the 
Cathedral,  which  is  a  few  yards  away,  baogs 
within  the  Tower. 


VIII.]      Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.        321 

sounded  through  his  Address  to  the  Feople  cf  Great  Britain,  It  was 
like  the  good  bishop,  whose  heart  and  philosophy  declined  confine- 
ment to  a  part  of  Christendom,  that  this  episcopal  appeal  was 
addressed  to  those  whom  the  popular  voice  in  Ireland  accepted  as 
the  moral  and  spiritual  guides  of  the  people.  The  example  of 
candour  and  humanity  was  not  lost.  The  Catholic  clergy,  as  in 
1745,  willingly  co-operated  with  their  Protestant  brethren.  In 
the  DuUin  Journal^  they  returned  *  their  sincere  and  hearty  thanks 
to  the  worthy  author ;  assuring  him  that  they  are  determined  to 
comply  with  every  particular  recommended  in  his  Address,  to  the 
utmost  in  their  power.'  They  add  that  ^  in  every  page  it  contains 
a  proof  of  the  author's  extensive  charity;  his  views  are  only 
towards  the  public  good;  the  means  he  prescribeth  are  easily 
complied  with;  and  his  manner  of  treating  persons  in  their 
circumstances  so  very  singular,  that  they  plainly  show  the 
good  man,  the  polite  gentleman,  and  the  true  patriot.'  A 
gleam  of  social  prosperity  seems  to  have  rested  upon  Ireland 
about  that  time;  notwithstanding  an  inequality  in  the  laws  and 
arrangements  of  society,  which  has  been  since  gradually  dis- 
appearing, until  hardly  any  remnant  is  now  to  be  found.  Less  has 
been  done  in  the  way  of  bridging  over  ecclesiastical  differences, 
by  that  recollection  of  a  common  humanity  and  Christendom, 
the  want  of  which  then  made  Berkeley's  approach  seem  '  so  very 
singular'  to  persons  in  the  circumstances  of  the  Catholic  clergy  of 
Ireland.  It  may  be  doubted  too,  when  we  look  at  Ireland  as  it  is, 
and  as  it  has  been,  whether  work  and  self-reliance  are  means  to 
social  happiness  'easily  complied  with,'  either  by  the  Roman 
Catholics  or  the  Protestants  of  that  country. 

Later  in  the  same  year,  the  following  letter  to  his  old  friend 
Dr.  Samuel  Johnson''^  proves  Berkeley's  liberal  interest  in  the  Con- 
gregationalist  College  of  Newhaven,  while  it  contains  practical 
suggestions  about  a  projected  College  at  New  York  : — 

Reverend  Sir,  ^^''y""'^  ^^""^^  ^3,  1749- 

I  AM  obliged  for  the  account  you  have  sent  me  of  the  prosperous 
estate  of  learning  in  your  College  of  Newhaven.  I  approve  of  the  regu- 
lations made  there,  and  am  particularly  pleased  to  find  your  sons  have 
made  such  progress  as  appears  from  their  elegant  address  to  me  in  the 

^  The  University  of  Oxford  conferred  the  degree  of  Doctor  in  Divinity  on  Johnson  in 
February  1743. 

VOL.  IV.  Y 


522  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ca 

La2xi  tc^ngrie.  It  mast  indeed  give  me  a  very  sendUe  satisfacdoo  to 
hejLT  :hi:  mv  veik  endeavours  have  been  of  some  use  and  service  to 
thi:  pan  of  ibe  world. 

I  have  twv*  leneis  of  vours  at  once  in  my  hands  to  answer,  for  whidi 
bQ5iDe<5^  of  virioas  kinds  most  be  my  apology. 

As  to  ibe  first,  wherein  you  enclosed  a  small  pamphlet  relating  to  tar- 
water.  I  can  only  say  in  behalf  of  those  points  in  which  the  ingenious 
author  seems  to  differ  from  me,  that  I  advance  nothing  which  is  not 
grounded  on  experience,  as  may  be  seen  at  large  in  Mr.  Prior  s  Narradxn 
rf  thi  Ef<y:is  cf  Tar-Waiar,  printed  three  or  four  years  ago,  and  whidi 
may  be  supposed  to  have  reached  America. 

For  the  rest,  I  am  glad  to  find  a  spirit  towards  learning  prevails  in 
those  parts,  paniculariy  New  York,  where  you  say  a  College  is  projected, 
which  has  my  best  wishes.  At  the  same  time  I  am  sorry  that  the  con- 
dition of  Ireland,  containing  such  numbers  of  poor,  uneducated  people, 
for  whose  sake  charity  schools  are  erecting  throughout  the  kingdom, 
obligeth  us  to  draw  charities  from  England ;  so  far  are  we  from  being 
able  to  extend  otu-  bounty  to  New  York,  a  country  in  proportion  mud 
richer  than  our  own.  But  as  you  are  pleased  to  desire  my  advice  on 
this  undertaking,  I  send  the  following  hints  to  be  enlarged  and  improved 
by  your  own  judgment. 

I  would  not  advise  the  applying  to  England  (or  Charters  or  Statutes 
(which  might  cause  great  trouble,  expense,  and  delay),  but  to  do  the 
business  quietly  within  yourselves. 

1  believe  it  may  suffice  to  begin  with  a  President  and  two  Fellows.  K 
they  can  procure  but  three  fit  persons,  I  doubt  not  the  College  from  the 
smallest  beginnings  would  soon  grow  considerable.  I  should  conceive 
good  hopes  were  you  at  the  head  of  it**. 

Let  them  by  all  means  supply  themselves  out  of  the  seminaries  in  New 
England.  For  I  am  very  apprehensive  none  can  be  got  in  Old  England 
(who  are  willing  to  go)  worth  sending. 

Let  the  Greek  and  Latin  classics  be  well  taught.  Be  this  the  first  care 
as  to  learning.  But  the  principal  care  must  be  good  life  and  morals,  to 
which  (as  well  as  to  study)  early  hours  and  temperate  meals  will  much 
conduce. 

If  the  terms  for  Degrees  are  the  same  as  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge, 
this  would  give  credit  to  the  College,  and  pave  the  way  for  admitting 
their  graduates  ad  eundem  in  the  English  Universities. 

Small  premiums  in  books,  or  distinctions  in  habit,  may  prove  useful 
encouragements  to  the  students. 

*  This  College  was  founded  at  New  York  in  1 754,  and  Dr.  Johnson  wai  appointed  in  the 
Charter  the  first  President. 


Viil]      Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.        323 

I  would  advise  that  the  building  be  regular,  plain,  and  cheap,  and  that 
ach  student  have  a  small  room  (about  ten  feet  square)  to  himself. 

I  recommended  this  nascent  seminary  to  an  English  bishop,  to  try 
rhat  might  be  done  there.  But  by  his  answer  it  seems  the  Colony  is 
adged  rich  enough  to  educate  its  own  youth. 

Colleges,  from  small  beginnings,  grow  great  by  subsequent  bequests 
od  benefactions.  A  small  matter  will  suffice  to  set  one  agoing.  And 
lien  this  is  once  well  done,  there  is  no  doubt  it  will  go  on  and  thrive, 
"he  chief  concern  must  be  to  set  out  in  a  good  method,  and  introduce 
om  the  very  first  a  good  taste  into  the  Society.  For  this  end,  its  prin- 
pal  expense  should  be  in  making  a  handsome  provision  for  the  President 
id  Fellows. 

I  have  thrown  together  these  few  crude  thoughts  for  you  to  ruminate 
pon  and  digest  in  your  own  judgment,  and  propose  from  yourself,  as 
Du  see  convenient. 

My  correspondence  with  patients  that  drink  tar-water  obliges  me  to 
e  less  punctual  in  corresponding  with  my  friends.  But  I  shall  be 
Iways  glad  to  hear  from  you.  My  sincere  good  wishes  and  prayers 
ttend  you  in  all  your  laudable  imdertakings.  I  am,  your  faithful, 
amble  servant,  q   CLOYNE. 

Communications  to  his  American  friends  are  the  only  relics 
f  Berkeley's  correspondence  in  1750.  The  first  is  a  note  to 
)r.  Johnson : — 

Rev.  Sir,  Chyme  July  17,  1750. 

A  FEW  months  ago  I  had  an  opportunity  of  writing  to  you  and  Mr. 
on}Tnan  by  an  inhabitant  of  Rhode  Island  government.  I  would  not 
jvertheless  omit  the  present  occasion  of  saluting  you,  and  letting  you 
low  that  it  gave  me  great  pleasure  to  hear  from  Mr.  Bourk,  a  passenger 
)m  those  parts,  that  a  late  sermon  of  yours  at  Newhaven  hath  had  a 
ry  good  effect  in  reconciling  several  to  the  church.  I  find  also  by  a 
ter  from  Mr.  Clap  that  learning  continues  to  make  notable  advances  in 
ur  College.  This  gives  me  great  satisfaction.  And  that  God  may 
^ss  your  worthy  endeavours,  and  crown  them  with  success,  is  the 
icere  prayer  of.  Rev.  Sir, 

Your  faithful  brother  and  humble  servant, 

G.  CLOYNE. 

p.S. — I  hope  your  ingenious  sons  are  still  an  ornament  to  Yale 
)llege,  and  tread  in  their  father's  steps". 

**  One  of  these  sons,  William  Samuel  American  revolution,  and  aided  in  framing 
inson,  became  one  of  the  leaders  of  the       the  constitution  of  the  United  States.  He  was 

Y  2 


2r  amd  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


ciT  he  wiucc  what  follows  to  Mr.  Clap,  the  Presi- 


-t  -tY 


1  pasty?:  jTcr  from  Neviaven,  hath  latdj  put  into  my 
^  :=!*  j^cifT  r:c  ^Toced  me  vith,  and  at  the  same  time  the  agree- 
of  jcarrrz;^  vhadb  it  enclosed,  for  which  you  have  mj 
;fc*'c^^.     Br  :*Ksi  I  find  a  considerate  progress  made  in  astro- 
iindeTi>ra]  soufies  in  your  CoDege,  in  the  welfare  and 


vt:ier*oc  I  sacere^  inieiest  myself  and  recommending  you  to 
Gr:%f  >  f.xif  przTxksxe.  I  coochide  with  my  prayers  and  best  wishes  for 

Rer.  Sir.  your  faithful,  homble  servant, 

G.  CLOYNE. 

In  i*5C>  JL  Sdill  tract  entitled  MMxhms  tfFmtrktism^  was  printed 
it  DcKi^.  h  is  in  the  spirit  of  the  Smerist  and  the  fForJ  t$  the 
•  s5f,  iai  :<  t;>  be  round  in  every  edition  of  Berkeley's  works. 
h  1?  o-iri.xs;*  boweier,  'and  hitherto  unknown,)  that  on  the  titlc- 
rc  ibe  cci^isjL  edition  these  Mmxhrns  are  attributed  to  *a 

J)  /  P«jLjt?  we  owe  them  to  Mrs.  Berkeley,  although  two  years 
jLTter  th-*<  tbey  were  included  by  Berkeley  in  his  Mlscellmmj. 

T^  Essj^  m  Sfirzi^  attributed  to  Berkeley's  old  friend  Dr.  Clay- 
tvx:,  rocr::^r*y  B:5^>p  ot  Cork,  cow  Bishop  of  Clogher,  also  appeared 
lh:<  vex-^  -ind  mije  a  crrat  noise.  It  was  the  occasion  of  some 
thirty  rvirr.pV.ets^  Little  of  permanent  value  emerged  from  the 
wva:\  war.  I  oo  not  £nd  that  Berkeley  took  any  part  in  it, 
t'rxx^.  h;r  Jinc  Malebranche  were  mentioned  in  the  Essaj^ss  holding 
a  ph:\>ophy  Ow>:T«poncing  to  that  of  Spinoza*^. 

The  yoor  i  "^i  open^Nl  in  clouds  at  the  episcopal  residence  of 


S5i*5^v4  mh>«ie  ^*  i<o  ui  ;Sl^>.  At  tbe  jl<« 

S.  >-"»:*.*  >fc>Nh  Mr  O-AT  s*-.::  tc»  Berkdcr. 
Vhx'  >.  ^  xvt  ot  x^iic  .^:  tb«ri  wa*'  TbeCooKt 
At  thv  t;;*.*,-?  **i  ;hc  Kxxxl  mhvh  Apfcared  in 
\f<S\  \4t\- -J  A  jxx^NxisTA-  nrrvvution  of 
5*51  \o*»x  4\  .h  Mr.  Wh-.«oe'.  supfvtses  to 
iuCc  Nv.'.  th<'  %«^>f  ^^*  ^i>*  IVhjp;*   And 

\\w  S«;»  <u  the  :«;t>.  ttat  of  JehoiAkim, 
u(v«U(nV)<s<  u»  Uct\xiv*:x;*»   L;b.  L  cAp.  74, 

•*  *  rh*  %*|M«hH^  \^  S|«iK>f  A  WA*.  thAt  there 


is  no  other  SubstAoce  io  oatnre  hut  God; 
that  mt>Jes  cannot  sohsist  or  he  conceived 
without  A  suhstAnce;  thAt  there  is  nothing 
ia  UAtnie  hot  modes  and  substances;  and 
thAt  dieiefore  everything  must  he  con- 
ceired  as  subsisting  in  God.  Which  opin- 
ioo.  with  some  few  AlterAtioos,  hAth  been 
embraced  and  cuhirated  bj  P.  Malebrancbe 
and  Bp.  Berkeley'  (fsso^r  on  Spirit,  p.  2). 
Cf.  Appendix  to  Cheralier  Ramsay's  PIhIo- 
sopticaJ  Principles  (1751V  According  to 
B^keley,  at  any  rate,  if  men  'subsist  in 
Gvhl,*  they  do  so  freely  or  responsibly— 
whAtever  thAt  involves.  Intelligent  effi- 
ciency, or  causation  proper,  is  the  essential 
principle  in  his  phikMophy. 


Tni.]      Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne,        .325 

Qoyne.  A  complication  of  diseases  was  gaining  ground  upon 
the  aged  philosopher,  and  death  visited  his  family.  The  young 
artist  William,  his  favourite  son,  by  repute  a  handsome  and 
accomplished  youth,  died  in  February.  ^  The  loss,'  says  Stock, 
*was  thought  to  have  struck  too  close  to  his  father's  heart.*  It 
was  the  first  great  break  in  the  family  circle.  The  touching 
letter  which  follows**,  addressed  probably  either  to  Bishop  Benson 
or  Lord  Egmont,  refers  to  this  sorrow : — 

My  dear  Lord,  ^^ev«^'  ^^^^^  «'  '75i. 

I  WAS  a  man  retired  from  the  amusement  of  politics,  visits,  and  what 
the  world  calls  pleasure.  I  had  a  little  friend,  educated  always  under 
mine  own  eye,  whose  painting  delighted  me,  whose  music  ravished  me, 
and  whose  lively,  gay  spirit  was  a  continual  feast.  It  has  pleased  God 
to  take  him  hence.  God,  1  say,  in  mercy  hath  deprived  me  of  this 
P^tty,  gay  plaything.  His  parts  and  person,  his  innocence  and  piety, 
his  particularly  uncommon  affection  for  me,  had  gained  too  much  upon 
mc  Not  content  to  be  fond  of  him,  I  was  vain  of  him.  I  had  set 
my  heart  too  much  upon  him — more  perhaps  than  I  ought  to  have 
done  upon  anything  in  this  world. 

Thus  much  suffer  me,  in  the  overflowing  of  my  soul,  to  say  to  your 
Lordship,  who,  though  distant  in  place,  are  much  nearer  to  my  heart  than 
any  of  my  neighbours. 

Adieu,  my  dear  Lord,  and  believe  me,  with  the  utmost  esteem  and 
affection,  your  faithful,  humble  servant,  q    pj  qYNE 

The  Register  of  the  Cathedral  records  that  ^  William  Berkeley, 
son  of  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Cloyne,  was  buried  March  3,  1751  *V 

It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  in  these  years  it  was  a  chief  part 
of  Berkeley's  daily  happiness  to  guide  the  education  of  his  children 
—three  sons  and  one  daughter.  The  episcopal  palace  at  Cloyne 
was  a  scene  of  rural  home  education  as  well  as  of  art ;  and  in 
that  education  he  sought  to  keep  his  young  flock  '  unspotted  from 

••  Preserved    in   the   Preface   to   Monck  He  used  afterwards  to  say  to  his  son  George 

Berhtley^  p.  ccccxxxvii,  where  we  are  told  — I  sec  William  incessantly  before  my  eyes.' 

that  *  William  Berkeley  was  as  beautiful,  as  By  the  way,  we  hear  nothing  of  the  brothers 

finely  made,  as   his  elder  brother  George ;  Rowland  and  Ralph,  of  Newmarket,  at  any 

taller  and  more  slightly  built;    a  most  un-  of  the  family  gatherings  at  Cloyne. 
commonly  elegant   youth — danced,  as   did  In  the  register  of  baptisms  at  Clo)me,  it 

his  brother,  remarkably  well.'  is  recorded  that  '  William  Maclane,  son  of 

•*  •  On  the  day  of  the  funeral,'  we  learn  John    Maclane    of    Cloyne,    was    baptised 

from  the  Preface  to  Monck  Berkeley,  •  the  October  the  9th,  1 748.      William  Berkeley, 

BL*hop*$   brother    [Robert]    and    attending  and    Thomas    Standish    Street,   godfathers. 

Friends  dined  with  him,  and  no  one  would  Jtdia  Berkiliy,  godmother.' 
'lave    supposed  that   he  had   lost  his  idol. 


326 


Life  and  Letters  of  BerkeUy. 


[CH. 


the  world.'  He  would  not  ^  trust  them  to  mercenary  hands.*  In 
tiieir  childhood  he  instructed  them ;  and  even  in  his  days  of 
sickness  and  old  age,  we  are  XxAi  that  the  education  of  his  boys 
was  his  constant  anxious  care. 

Of  the  fruits  of  this  home  education  little  can  be  said.  One, 
as  we  have  seen,  died  in  early  youth.  Of  another  we  hear  almost  j 
nothing.  Of  the  third  some  account  is  given  in  the  following  \ 
chapter.  None  of  them,  including  the  daughter,  seem  to  have 
brought  much  strength  of  constitution  into  the  world ;  nor  was 
the  defect  remedied  by  the  frequently  administered  doses  of  tar- 
water.  Perhaps  in  all  we  detect  signs  of  the  enfeebling  e£R:cts 
of  a  too  secluded  and  anxious  training. 

A  more  sombre  tone  prevails  after  this  at  Cloyne. 

The  letters  which  follow  were  written  in  July,  one  to  Jdioson 
at  Stratford,  and  the  second  to  the  Rector  of  Yale  College : — 

Rev.  Sir,  Clqynejuly  25,  1751. 

I  WOULD  not  let  Mr.  Hall  depart  without  a  line  from  me  in  acknow- 
ledgment of  your  letter  which  he  put  into  my  hands. 

As  for  Mr.  Hutchinson's  writings,  I  am  not  acquainted  with  them. 
I  live  in  a  remote  comer,  where  many  modem  things  escape  me.  Only 
this  I  can  say,  that  I  have  observed  that  author  to  be  mentioned  as  an 
enthusiast,  which  gave  me  no  prepossession  in  his  favour". 

I  am  glad  to  find  by  Mr.  Qap's  letter,  and  the  specimens  of  literature 
inclosed  in  his  packet,  that  learning  continues  to  make  a  progress  in 
Yale  College ;  and  hope  that  virtue  and  Christian  charity  may  keep  pace 
with  it. 

The  letters  which  you  and  Mr.  Clap  say  you  had  written,  in  answer  to 

my  last,  never  came  into  my  hands.     I  am  glad  to  hear,  by  Mr.  HaD,  of 

the  good  health  and  condition  of  yourself  and  family.     I  pray  God  to 

bless  you  and  yours,  and  prosper  your  good  endeavours.      I  am,  Rev. 

.  Sir,  your  faithful  friend  and  humble  servant, 

G.  CLOYNE. 


*  John  Hutchinson,  bom  in  Yorkshire  in 
1674,  author  of  some  curious  works  in  mys- 
tical theology  and  philosophy,  which  at- 
tracted disciples  in  last  century — among 
others  Bishop  Home,  Jones  of  Nayland, 
and  Dr.  Hodges,  Provost  of  Oriel.  The 
best  known  of  his  books  is  the  Principia  of 
Moses  (1734),  in  which  he  controverts  the 


Principia  of  Newton,  and  tries  to  find  io 
the  Jewish  Scriptures  the  elements  of  ill 
religion  and  philosophy.  He  died  in  1 737> 
and  his  works  were  afterwards  coUected. 
Some  passages  in  Siris  remind  one  of 
Hutchinson,  and  it  is  curious  that  Betkxkj 
should  not  have  known  his  writings. 


Till  J      Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne,         327 

Rev.  Sir,  Clqynejuly  25,  1751. 

The  daily  increase  of  religion  and  learning  in  your  seminary  of  Yale 
College  give  me  very  sensible  pleasure,  and  an  ample  recompense  for 
my  poor  endeavours  to  further  these  good  ends. 

May  God's  Providence  continue  to  prosper  and  cherish  the  rudiments 
of  good  education  which  have  hitherto  taken  root,  and  thrive  so  well, 
under  your  auspicious  care  and  government 

I  snatch  this  opportunity  given  me  by  Mr.  Hall  to  acknowledge  the 
receipt  of  your  letter  which  he  put  into  .my  hands — together  with  the 
learned  specimens  that  accompanied  it — and  to  assure  you  that  I  am, 
very  sincerely.  Rev.  Sir,  your  faithful  well  wisher  and  humble  servant, 

G.  CLOYNK 

These  notes  exhaust  our  store  of  Berkeley's  correspondence 
with  his  Transatlantic  friends.  His  friendly  intercourse  with 
Yale  College  was  maintained  from  the  time  of  his  stay  in  Rhode 
Island  to  the  end  of  his  life — latterly,  by  occasional  letters  through 
Johnson,  or  to  the  authorities.  The  mutual  respect,  and  occa- 
sional good  offices  which  Berkeley  helped  to  promote  among  those 
who  had  been  severed  by  ecclesiastical  diflPerences,  were  honour- 
able to  all  concerned  ^^.  Many  more  letters  must  have  been 
written  by  him  to  Johnson  and  others,  and  perhaps  some  of  these 
still  exist,  though  I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  discover  them. 
Those  of  most  interest  to  the  philosopher  apparently  belong  to  the 
early  period  of  the  correspondence^^. 

The  following  is  the  latest  relic,  hitherto  published,  of  a  cor- 
respondence of  forty  years  with  Thomas  Prior : — 

Cloyne,  30/^  0/ March ^  i75i- 
....  They  are  going  to  print  at  Glasgow  two  editions  at  once,  in 
quarto  and  in  folio,  of  Plato's  works,  in  most  magnificent  types.     This 
work  should  be  encouraged.     It  would  be  right  to  mention  it  as  you 
have  opportunity®^ 

^    See   Clap's  History  of  Vale  College ;  gow  printer,  proposed  to  publish  by  subscrip- 

Hawkins's  Original  Letters ;  Chandler's  Life  tion   an  edition    of  Plato,   in   ten  vols. — a 

of  Johnson.  proposal  warmly  supp)orted  by  John  Wilkes. 

**  I  have  some  remains  of  a  correspond-  It    was   repeated    in    1 751 — in   nine    vols, 

cnce  between  Johnson  and  Licut.-Governor  quarto  and  in  folio.     See  Gent.  Mag.,  Sept. 

Cadwalladcr  Colden  (in  1744 — 46),  regard-  1 75 1.       Principal     Blackwell    of   Aberdeen 

ing   Berkeley's   philosophy  —  especially  the  offered  to  supply  notes.      His   terms  were 

De  Motu,  in  which  Johnson  vindicates  the  not    accepted,    and    in    the    same    year   he 

philosophy,  against  the  misunde-standing  of  announced    an    edition    of    his    own.       Sec 

his  correspondent.    Colden  afterwards  wrote  Gent.  Mag.   for  August,   1 75 1.      None  of 

a  book  on  Action  in  Matter  (1752).  these  proposals  were  carried  out. 

•  In  1746,  Foulis,  the  wcU-knowu  Glas- 


328  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [cH- 

The  Berkeley  Papers  contain  the  following  letter  from  the  Bishop. 
It  is  addressed  to  Prior,  is  dated  some  months  later  than  the 
preceding  scrap,  and  may  have  been  the  last  letter  Berkeley  wrote 
to  him.  Accordingly,  it  has  a  certain  incidental  interest,  and  it 
is  here  printed  from  the  original : — 

Clqyne^  August  6,  1751. 
Dear  Tom, 

Brothsr  Will.  ^  in  a  few  daies  proposes  being  in  Dublin.  He  brings 
with  him  two  debentures  of  mine  drawn  some  time  ago,  I  think  in 
1749.  I  must  desire  you  to  receive  their  value  at  the  treasury.  He 
also  carries  with  him  a  note  of  mine  for  fifteen  poimds  upon  Gleadowe, 
which  you  will  put  into  his  bank  to  my  credit.  The  enclosed  sum  of 
846  pds.  15  shill.  you  may  leave  in  Alderman  Dawson's  bank,  as  like- 
wise the  value  of  my  two  debentm^s,  sending  me  his  note  for  the 
whole,  and  seeing  it  placed  in  his  books  to  my  credit. 

My  intention  was  to  have  purchased  ten  debentures  with  this  sum, 
but  am  at  a  loss  in  what  banker's  hands  to  leave  thenL  Do  you  know 
any  safe  bank  that  would  be  at  the  trouble  to  keep  my  debentures 
and  receive  their  produce,  letting  the  whole  lye  in  their  hands  till  such 
time  as  I  may  hereafter  have  occasion  to  draw  for  it  ?  Perhaps  if  you 
know  Mr.  Clements  of  the  treasury  you  may  get  him  to  let  my  de- 
bentures lye  in  his  bank  and  give  his  receipt  for  them ;  in  which  case 
I  would  have  them  all  ensured.  Alderman  Dawson^  I  doubt,  is  too 
wealthy  to  take  such  trouble  on  him.  But  if  nothing  of  all  this  can 
be  done,  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  place  them  in  Gleadow's  bank, 
taking  his  receipt  and  directing  him  to  receive  the  interest  It  is  the 
bank  I  have  dealt  with  above  thirty  years,  and  if  you  think  it  as  secure 
as  another  I  should  not  desire  to  change  it.  There  hath  been  some 
talk  as  if  the  late  change  in  our  cash  (being  mostly  Spanish)  might 
cause  a  run  on  some  of  our  banks.  If  there  be  any  likelyhood  of  this, 
you'll  be  so  good  as  to  act  accordingly.  Instead  of  the  books  I 
returned  pray  send  the  book  called  Tesprit  des  loix  by  the  Baron 
Montesqm'eu.     Adieu  dear  Tom. 

Y'  affec*  humble  serv*, 

G.  CLOYNE. 

We  have  in  the  course  of  this  year  intimation  of  the  declining 
health  of  good  old  Prior,  whose  name  carries  us  back  to  Berkeley's 
schoolboy  days  on  the  Nore  at  Kilkenny,  and  to  whose  watch- 
fulness we  owe  so  much  personal   knowledge  of  his   illustrious 

^  This  seems  to  be  his  brother.  Captain       tains  the  allusion  I  obtained  only  when  this 
William  Berkeley.     The  letter  which  con-       sheet  was  passing  through  the  press. 


VIII.]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.        329 

correspondent.  Faulkner's  Dublin  Journal  of  Jan.  19,  1751,  inti- 
mated that  ^  Thomas  Prior,  who  hath  been  lately  indisposed,  is 
perfectly  recovered,  to  the  great  joy  of  his  friends  and  the  public 
in  general.'  But  on  the  22nd  of  October,  in  the  same  year,  the 
following  announcement  was  made  in  the  same  newspaper: — ^Yes- 
terday morning  died,  after  a  tedious  and  severe  fit  of  illness, 
Thomas  Prior,  Esq.,  one  of  the  members  of  the  Dublin  Society  for 
the  improvement  of  husbandry,  and  other  useful  arts,  and  secretary 
thereof.'  An  iloge  follows  upon  his  piety  and  patriotism,  and 
encouragement  of  industry  and  self-reliance — '  always  assisting  the 
poor  in  their  sickness,  he  supplied  them  with  that  most  excel- 
lent remedy  tar-water,  without  desiring  any  satisfaction  but  their 
relief.'  And  so  another  link  connecting  Berkeley  with  this  mortal 
life  was  broken. 

After  the  death  of  Prior  some  letters  passed  between  Berkeley  and 
the  Rev.  Mervyn  Archdall,  then  a  young  clergyman  in  the  diocese 
of  Cloyne,  now  known  as  the  author  of  the  Monasticon  Hiiemicum^^. 
Between  the  Archdall  family  and  Prior  there  was  apparently  some 
family  connexion.  Berkeley's  letters  are  addressed  to  him  at 
Prior's  house,  in  Bolton-street,  Dublin.     Here  is  the  first: — 

Cloyne-y  November  22,  1751. 
Reverend  Sir, 

You  will  see  by  the  inclosed  paragraph,  from  Faulkner's  Journal  for 
Saturday,  November  tlie  i6th,  that  the  late  Bishop  of  Clogher^  had  left 
gold  medals  for  encouraging  the  study  of  Greek  in  the  College.  Now 
I  desire  you  will  do  me  the  favour  to  inquire  what  the  value  of  those 
medals  was,  and  in  whose  custody  they  were  left,  and  let  me  know. 
Certainly  if  I  had  been  informed  of  this,  I  should  not  have  annually,  for 
eighteen  years  past,  have  given  two  gold  medals  for  the  same  purpose, 
through  the  hands  of  our  friend  Mr.  Prior,  who  did  constantly  distribute 
them,  and  charge  them  to  my  account.  I  must  entreat  you  to  get  the 
dye  for  those  medals,  which  I  left  in  Mr.  Prior's  hands,  and  secure  it 
for  me. 

"*    Mervyn   Archdall    was    descended    of  Ossory    in    r  761 ,   where    he   enjoyed   the 

John  Archdall,  of  Norsom  Hall,  in  Norfolk,  friendship  of  Bishop  Pococke.     He  died  in 

who  settled  at  Castle  Archdall,  in  co.  Fer-  1791.      Archdall  edited  Lodge's  Peerage  of 

Dianagh,  in  the  reign  of  James  I.     Mervyn  Ireland,  and  left   MSS.  of  antiquarian  in- 

was  the  son  of  William  Archdall,  who  died  tcrest. 

at  Dublin  in  175 1.     He  was  born  there  in  "  John  Steame,  D.D.,  a  munificent  bene- 

1733,  and  got  the  livings  of  Nathlash  and  factor  of  the  University  of  Dublin,  who  died 

Kildorrery,   in   the   diocese   of  Cloyne,   in  in  1745. 
1749.     He  was  removed  to  the  diocese  of 


330  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

There  is  also  an  account  between  Mr.  Prior  and  me,  of  which  I  must 
desire  you  to  get  a  copy  from  the  executor,  and  send  it  inclosed  to 
myself. 

I  must  further  trouble  you  to  secure  for  me  two  small  books  which  I 

lent  Mr.  Prior,  and  cannot  be  had.     One  of  them  is  a  French  translation 

of  Siris^ ;  the  other  was  a  small  tract  relative  to  the  same  subject, 

printed  in   America^.      There   are,   I   doubt    not,   many  letters  and 

memoirs  relating  to  cures  done  by  tar-water  among  Mr.  Prior's  papers, 

which  I  hope  you  will  take  care  shall  not  be  lost     What  trouble  yon 

are  at  in  these  matters  will  oblige.  Reverend  Sir,  your  faithful  humble 

servant, 

G.  CLOYNE. 

P,S,  All  here  send  their  compliments.  The  pictures  borrowed  from 
Mr.  Prior  are  this  day  boxed  up,  and  shall  be  sent  on  Monday  to  Corke, 
to  the  Dublin  carrier. 

I  add  some  fragments  of  other  letters  to  Mr.  ArchdaJl.  One  of 
the  inscriptions  to  which  they  refer  was  for  a  monument  to  Prior, 
which  may  now  be  seen  in  Christ  Church  Cathedral,  Dublin,  with 
Berkeley's  tribute  to  his  friend  engraved  on  it : — 

Clqyne,  Dec,  8,  1751. 

Rev.  Sir, 

This  is  to  desire  you  may  publish  the  inscription  I  sent  in  Faulkner's 
paper.     But  say  nothing  of  the  author. 

I  must  desire  you  to  cause  the  letters  G.  B.,  being  the  initial  letters  of 
my  name,  to  be  engraved  on  the  dye  of  the  gold  medal,  at  the  bottom 
beneath  the  race-horse ;  whereby  mine  will  be  distinguished  from  medals 
given  by  others  ^. 

Clqyne,  Dec.  22,  1751. 

I  THANK  you  for  the  care  you  have  taken  in  publishing  the  inscription 
so  correctly,  as  likewise  for  your  trouble  in  getting  G.  B.  engraved  on 
the  plane,  at  the  bottom  of  the  medal.  When  that  is  done,  you  may 
order  two  medals  to  be  made,  and  given  as  usual.  I  would  have  only 
two  made  by  my  dye :  the  multiplying  of  premiums  lessens  their  value. 

If  my  inscription  is  to  take  place,  let  me  know  before  it  is  engraved ; 
I  may  perhaps  make  some  trifling  alteration. 

^  Published  at  Amsterdam  in  I745.  side  of  the  medal  is  a  figure  of  Pegasus, 

**  Cf.  p.  321.  with  the  legend  V<i$  extmplaria  Gr<zca— 

^  Berkeley  at  this  time  gave  £100  to  his  only  bequest  to  the  College,  but  a  sigiii- 

Trinity   College,   Dublin,   to  be   spent   on  ficant  one.     A  Berkeley  memorial  window 

two    gold    medals,   which   are    still   given  has    lately    been    placed    in    the    College 

annually,  for  proficiency  in  Greek.     On  one  chapel. 


VIII.]       Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.        331 


[Undated^  hut  sent  at  this  time.] 

Fob  the  particulars  of  your  last  favour  I  give  you  thanks.  I  send  the 
above  bill  to  clear  what  you  have  expended  on  my  account,  and  also  ten 
guineas  beside ;  which  is  my  contribution  towards  the  monument  which 
I  understand  is  intended  for  our  deceased  friend.  Yesterday,  though 
ill  of  the  cholic,  yet  I  could  not  forbear  sketching  out  the  inclosed.  I 
wish  it  did  justice  to  his  character.  Such  as  it  is,  I  submit  it  to  you  and 
your  friends. 


Cloyne,  JatL  7,  1752. 

I  HERE  send  you  enclosed  the  inscription,  with  my  last  amendments. 
In  the  printed  copy  si  quis  was  one  word ;  it  had  better  be  two,  divided, 
as  in  this.  There  are  some  other  small  changes  which  you  will  observe. 
The  bishop  of  Meath^  was  for  having  somewhat  in  English :  accordingly, 
I  subjoin  an  English  addition,  to  be  engraved  in  a  different  characterj 
and  in  continued  lines  (as  it  is  written)  beneath  the  Latin  ^.  The  bishop 
writes  that  contributions  come  in  slowly,  but  that  near  one  hundred 
guineas  are  got.  Now,  it  should  seem  that  if  the  first  plan,  rated  as  two 
hundred  guineas,  was  reduced  all  altered,  there  might  be  a  plain,  neat, 
monument  erected  for  one  hundred  guineas,  and  so  (as  the  proverb 
directs)  the  coat  be  cut  according  to  the  cloth. 

This  letter  from  Bishop  Benson^®  exhausts  what  remains  of 
another  long  correspondence : — 


•*  Henry  Maule,  D.D.,  formerly  bishop  of 
Cloyne.     He  died  in  1758. 

'*"'  Berkeley's  inscription  for  the  Prior 
monument,  enclosed  in  the  above  letter,  was 
;l&  follows  : — 

'  Memoriae  sacrum 

Thomje  Prior, 

Viri,  si  quis  unquam  alius,  de  patria 

optime  mcriti : 

Qui,  cum  prodessc  mallet  qnam  conspici, 

Dec  in  senatum  cooptatus, 

nee  consiliorum  aulae  particcps, 

nee  ullo  publico  munere  insigaitus, 

rem  tamen  publicam 

mirifice  auxit  et  ornavit 

auspiciis,  consiliis,  iabore  indefesso : 

Vir  innocuus,  probus,  pius, 

partium  studiis  minime  addictus, 

de  re  familiari  parum  solicitus, 

cum  civium  corhmoda  unice  spcctaret : 

Quicquid  vel  ad  inopiz  levamen 

vel  ad  vitae  elegantiam  facit, 

quicquid  ad  desidiam  populi  vincendam, 


aut  ad  bonas  artes  excitandas  pertinet, 
id  omne  pro  virili  excoluit : 

Societatis  Dubliniensis 

auctor,  institutor,  curator: 

Quae  fecerit 

pluribus  dicere  baud  refert : 

quorsum  narraret  marmor 

ilia  quae  omnes  n6runt, 

ilia  quae,  civium  animis  insculpta, 

nulla  dies  dclebit  ? 

•  This  monument  was  erected  to  Thomas 

Prior,    Esquire,    at    the   charge    of   several 

persons    who   contributed    to    honour    the 

memory  of  that  worthy  Patriot,  to  whom 

his  own  actions  and  unwearied  endeavours 

in  the  service  of  his  country  have  raised  a 

monument  more  lasting  than  marble.' 

A  bust  of  Prior  may  be  seen  also  in  the 
Hall  of  the  Royal  Dublin  Society,  in  which 
the  features  of  Berkeley's  friend  are  strongly 
marked. 

**  Berkeley  Papers. 


332  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

Berry  Street^  Westminster^ 
Feb.  1 8,  1752. 
My  dear  Lord, 

I  AM  veiy  glad  to  hear  in  this  that  the  symptoms  you  complained  of 
in  your  former  letter  are  ceased ;  but  very  sorry  to  find  that  in  another 
complaint  still  more  sensibly  affecting  you  there  is,  after  so  long  time,  so 
little  change  made,  and  that  the  wound  is  still  opening  and  bleeding 
afresh"".  Your  Lordship  inquires  in  your  letter  after  Lord  Pomfret  He 
is  lately  gone  to  the  Bath  in  a  very  bad  state  of  body.  But  he  has  suf- 
fered much  more  in  his  mind  from  the  irregular  and  undutiful  behaviour 
of  his  son,  now  the  only  son  left  He  is  as  happy  in  his  daughters, 
as  he  is  unhappy  in  him.  He  has  lately  married  a  fourth  to  Mr.  Penn» 
the  proprietor  of  Pensylvania,  a  gendeman  of  good  character  as  well  as 
great  fortune,  and  a  constant  Churchman  \  Your  Lordship  will  reflect 
how  much  sadder  a  cause  he  has  for  his  than  you  for  your  grief.  He 
has  lost  a  son  living,  you  one  dead,  and  one  you  can  reflect  upon  with 
great  satisfaction  as  well  as  concern.  He  has  no  view  of  anything  but 
sorrow  ever  from  his. 

Your  Ix)rdship  speaks  of  the  loss  of  friends.  'Tis  what  I  have  been 
so  long  experiencing,  that  I  begin  to  comfort  myself  that  my  own  age 
will  not  allow  me  to  lose  many  more.  The  mortality  alone  which  I  see 
upon  the  Bench  on  which  I  am  sitting  must  be  very  sufficient  to  put  me 
in  mind  of  my  own.  In  1 7  years'  time  I  have  but  four  seniors  upon  it, 
and  many  juniors  besides  I  have  lost.  Are  not  things  so  durable  as 
these  well  worth  the  striving  for  ?  One  symptom  of  old  age,  if  I  feel 
not,  others  I  doubt  will  think  very  strong  upon  me,  which  is  to  be 
querulous ;  and  if  not  laudator  tcmporis  acti,  yet  a  censurer  of  the  present 
times.  Which  latter  I  am  sure  I  have  the  greatest  reason  for,  and 
greater  still  likely  every  day  to  have.  Your  Lordship  calls  this  the 
freest  country  in  Europe.  There  is  indeed  freedom  of  one  kind  in  it, 
more  it  is  to  be  hoped  than  in  any  other — a  most  unbounded  licentious- 
ness of  all  sorts ;  a  disregard  to  all  authority,  sacred  and  civil ;  a  regard 
to  nothing  but  diversion  and  vicious  pleasures.  There  is  not  only  no 
safety  of  living  in  this  town,  but  scarcely  in  the  country  now :  robbery 
and  murther  are  grown  so  frequent  *.  Our  people  are  now  become,  what 
they  never  before  were,  cruel  and  inhuman.     Those  accursed  spirituous 


•*  The  allusion  is  to  his  son  William's  written.  Fielding  published  an  Enquiry  into 

death,  in  February  of  the  year  before.  the  Cause  of  tb*  late  Increase  of  Robbers, 

*  Another  daughter  married  Lord   Car-  and    contemporary   periodicals    record  ex- 

teret.  ploits  of  highwaymen  near  London. 

'  A   short   time   t>efore   this    letter   was 


VIII.]      Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.         333 

liquors  which,  to  the  shame  of  our  Government,  are  so  easily  to  be  had, 
and  in  such  quantities  drunk,  have  changed  the  very  nature  of  our  people. 
And  they  will,  if  continued  to  be  drank,  destroy  the  very  race  of  the 
people  themselves. 

The  corruption  of  manners,  profusion  of  expense,  the  bad  condition 
in  which  we  and  all  our  affairs  are,  and  the  good  one  into  which  the 
French  are  putting  themselves,  their  navy,  their  finances,  and  everything 
dse,  are  common  and  constant  topics  in  Parliament  and  public,  as  well 
as  in  conversation  and  private.  But  it  is  only  matter  of  talk,  and  nothing 
Is  done  to  prevent  the  evils  which  are  coming  upon  us. 

I  have  discoursed  the  Bishop  of  Bristol  *  about  a  tutor  for  your  son, 
and  the  |>erson  your  letter  mentions  is  the  very  person  whom  he  designed 
to  recommend  to  you.  I  hope  the  comfort  you  will  have  in  him  will 
be  a  balance  for  the  sorrow  you  have  had  for  the  amiable  son  you  have 
k)st.  Mrs.  Berkeley  has  always  my  sincerest  respects ;  and  with  the  truest 
regard  I  ever  am,  my  dear  Lord, 

Your  most  faithful  servant  and  affectionate  brother, 

M.  GLOCESTER. 

My  Lord  Berkeley  desired  me,  when  I  wrote,  to  present  his  compli- 
ments to  you. 

The  last  of  all  Berkeley's  letters  which  remains  is  the  following 
characteristic  effusion  to  Dean  Gervais : — 

Cloyne,  April  6,  1752. 

YouB  letter  by  last  post  was  very  agreeable  :  but  the  trembling  hand 
with  which  it  is  written  is  a  drawback  from  the  satisfaction  I  should  other- 
wise have  had  in  hearing  from  you.  If  my  advice  had  been  taken,  you 
would  have  escaped  so  many  miserable  months  in  the  gout,  and  the  bad 
air  of  Dublin.  But  advice  against  inclination  is  seldom  successful.  Mine 
was  very  sincere,  though  I  must  own  a  little  interested  :  for  we  often 
wanted  your  enlivening  company  to  dissipate  the  gloom  of  Cloyne.  This 
I  look  on  as  enjoying  France  at  second  hand.  I  wish  any  thing  but  the 
gout  could  fix  you  among  us.  But  bustle  and  intrigue  and  great  affairs 
have  and  will,  as  long  as  you  exist  on  this  globe,  fix  your  attention.  For 
my  own  part,  I  submit  to  years  and  infirmities.     My  views  in  this  world 

'  John  Conybcarc,  D.D.,  succeeded  Butler  he  died.  He  is  known  as  the  author  of  a 
M  Kshop  of  Bristol  in  1 750,  and  was  also  Defenceof  Christianity  against  Tyndal,  which 
Dtan  of  Christ  Church,  1732—55,  when       appeared  in  1732,  and  of  some  sermons. 


334  ^if^  ^^  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

are  mean  and  narrow :  it  is  a  thing  in  which  I  have  small  share,  and 
which  ought  to  give  me  small  concern.  I  abhor  business,  and  especially 
to  have  to  do  with  great  persons  and  great  affairs,  which  I  leave  to  such 
as  you  who  delight  in  them  and  are  fit  for  them.  The  evening  of  life  I 
choose  to  pass  in  a  quiet  retreat  Ambitious  projects,  intrigues  and 
quarrels  of  statesmen,  are  things  I  have  formerly  been  amused  with ;  but 
they  now  seem  to  be  a  vain,  fugitive  dream.  If  you  thought  as  I  do,  we 
should  have  more  of  your  company,  and  you  less  of  the  gout  We  have 
not  those  transports  of  you  casde-hunters ;  but  our  lives  are  calm  and 
serene.  We  do,  however,  long  to  see  you  open  your  budget  of  politics 
by  our  fireside.  My  wife  and  all  here  salute  you,  and  send  you,  instead 
of  compliments,  their  best  sincere  wishes  for  your  health  and  safe 
return.  The  part  you  take  in  my  son's  recovery*  is  very  obliging  to 
us  all,  and  particularly  to,  &c., 

G.  CLOYNE. 

Berkeley  was  now  to  remove  to  the  academic  retreat  at  Oxford, 
for  which  he  had  long  yearned  *.  The  home  education  of  his  son 
George  had  prepared  him  for  the  University :  this  was  the  desired 
opportunity.  He  resolved  to  send  him  to  Oxford  instead  of  to  his 
own  mother  university  at  Dublin.  Stock  says  that  he  had  ^  a  fixed 
resolution  to  spend  the  remainder  of  his  days  in  Oxford,  with  a 
view  of  indulging  the  passion  for  a  learned  retirement,  which  had 
ever  strongly  possessed  his  mind,  and  was  one  of  the  motives 
that  led  him  to  form  his  Bermuda  project.*  As  he  wanted,  in 
1724,  to  resign  his  deanery,  now,  in  1752,  he  wanted  to  resign 
his  bishopric,  for  he  objected  to  non-resident  bishops.  He  first 
proposed  to  exchange  Cloyne  for  an  Oxford  headship  or  canonry. 
Failing  in  this,  he  wrote  to  the  Secretary  of  State,  and  offered 
absolutely  to  resign  his  bishopric.  The  singular  proposal  excited 
the  curiosity  of  George  11.  When  the  King  discovered  by  whom 
it  was  made,  he  declared  that  Berkeley  should  die  a  bishop  in  spite 
of  himself,  but  that  he  might  live  where  he  pleased. 

Our  glimpses  of  his  last  weeks  in  the  'serene  comer* 
where,  for  eighteen  years,  in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  he  had 
indulged  in  inquisitive  philanthropy  and  meditation,  reveal  the 
weakness  and  suffering  of  hopeless  disease.     His  son  Geoi^e  was 

*  His  son  Henry  is  probably  alluded  to  "  Cf.   letter   to    Sir  J.  James,  in   174I, 

here,  and  also  in  a  former  letter,  in  1745.  and  to  Prior,  in  1746. 


viil]      Philanthropy  and  Philosophy  at  Cloyne.         335 

matriculated  in  Christ  Church  in  June «.  The  family  delayed  a 
little  longer  in  the  old  home.  We  have  a  few  gleanings  in  the 
registries  and  elsewhere  ■^.  There  were  transactions  in  May  with 
the  Reverend  Marmaduke  Philips,  about  a  glebe  house,  and  a  fund 
for  the  widows  of  the  clergy  of  the  diocese ;  afterwards,  arrange- 
ments for  leasing  from  year  to  year  the  episcopal  demesne,  during 
his  absence,  at  a  rent  of  ;£'200,  which  was  to  be  annually  dis- 
tributed, until  his  return,  among  the  poor  householders  of  Cloyne, 
Youghal,  and  Aghada;  and  on  the  4th  of  August  'George,  Bishop 
of  Cloyne,  commissions  Robert  Berkeley,  Vicar-General,  to  hold 
visitations,  while  the  said  bishop  is  in  parts  beyond  the  sea.' 

It  was  probably  a  day  or  two  after  this  4th  of  August  that 
Berkeley  saw  Cloyne  for  the  last  time. 


*  In  the  Register  of  Matriculation  at  Ox- 
ford, we  find— 'Tcr""  Trinitatus  1752,  Junil 
4*0,  Georgius  Berkeley,  18,  Georgii,  Lon- 
dini.  ]EA,  q{i«.,  Episc.  Fil.'  The  age  of 
the  student  is  indicated  by  *  18/  and  the 
birthplace  by  *  Londini.' 

^  It  has  been  said  that  among  his  other 
odd  experiments  Berkeley  contrived,  by 
a  special  regimen,  to  convert  a  child  of 
ordinary  size  into  a  giant ;  and  Magrath, 
whose  skeleton,  seven  feet  nine  inches  in 
height,  may  be  seen  in  Trinity  College, 
Dublin,  is  reported  to  have  been  the  subject 
of  this  experiment.  (See  Notes  and  Queries^ 
1863.)  The  following  letter,  which  I  find 
in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine  for  August, 
1752,  refers  to  the  origin  of  this  absurd 
story: — 'Cork,  July  30,  [1752].  There 
is  now  in  this  city  a  boy,  Cornelius  Magrath, 
15    years,    11   months   old,    of  a    gigantic 


stature,  being  7  foet,  9J  inches  high;  but 
he  is  clumsily  made,  talks  boyish  and  simple ; 
he  came  hither  from  Youghal,  where  he  has 
been  a  year  going  into  salt  water  for  rheu- 
matic pains  which  almost  crippled  him,  and 
the  physicians  now  say  they  were  growing 
pains,  as  he  is  surprisingly  grown  within 
that  time.  He  was  a  month  at  the  Bishop 
of  Cloyne's,  who  took  care  of  him ;  his 
head  is  as  big  as  a  middling  shoulder  of 
mutton ;  the  last  of  his  shoe,  which  he 
carries  about  him,  measures  15  inches. 
He  was  bom  in  the  county  of  Tipperary, 
within  five  miles  of  the  silver  mines.*  The 
fact  is  that  Berkeley  took  this  boy,  who 
was  early  an  orphan,  under  his  care,  the 
Magrath  family  being  in  his  diocese.  Ma- 
grath was  afterwards  shown  as  the  *  Irish 
Giant.'     He  died  in  1758. 


CHAPTER    IX. 


OXFORD.— THE   END. — THE  FAMILY  DISSOLUTION. 

1752— 1753. 

In  August  1752,  Berkeley  once  more  set  out  in  quest  of  what 
Swift  had  called  '  life  academico-philosophical.*  Twenty-four 
years  before,  when  Swift  had  so  written,  his  friend  was  bound 
for  an  ideal  university  in  the  Summer  Islands,  the  creation  of 
his  own  benevolent  imagination.  Now  he  was  on  his  way  to  the 
actual  city  of  Colleges  on  the  banks  of  the  Isis,  with  its  gathered 
memories  of  almost  a  thousand  years,  to  which  sensibilities  like 
his  were  naturally  drawn,  and  which  for  some  years  had  been 
before  him  in  imagination  as  the  ideal  home  of  his  old  age. 

He  seems  to  have  travelled  to  Oxford  by  the  route  usual  in 
those  days  —  sailing  from  Cork  harbour  to  Bristol.  He  was 
accompanied  by  his  wife,  his  son  Geoi^e,  and  Julia  his  only 
remaining  daughter.  George  was  already  matriculated  at  Christ 
Church,  and  Henry,  the  eldest  son,  seems  to  have  been  left 
behind  in  Ireland.  I  have  not  found  any  account  of  the  depar- 
ture or  the  voyage.  There  is  a  tradition  that  a  number  of 
sorrowing  neighbours  accompanied  the  family  to  the  ship,  but 
tradition  does  not  inform  us  where  the  ship  was.  The  waters 
of  the  harbour  of  Cork  approach,  at  Rostellan  and  Aghada,  within 
two  miles  of  Cloyne.  The  party,  however,  probably  embarked 
at  Cork,  or  at  Cove,  in  one  of  the  vessels  which  traded  between 
those  places  and  Bristol — a  voyage  then  of  some  two  or 
three  days.  James  Wolfe,  who  was  seven  years  afterwards  the 
hero  of  Quebec,  seems  to  have  made  the  same  voyage  about  the 


Oxford. 


337 


time.     He  may  even  have  travelled  with  the  Cloync  family 
Cork  to  Bristol'. 

nust  have  been  rather  an  arduous  pilgrimage  which  the  good 
p  now  undertook,  for  the  indulgence  of  his  parental  tender- 
and  to  gratify  his  longing  for  the  repose  and  ideal  beauty 
\  great  English  University.  He  was  so  much  reduced  by 
ing  that  he  had  to  be  'carried  from  his  landing  on  the 
sh  shore,  in  a  horse  litter,  to  Oxford'.' 
dcr  the  light  of  a  day  in  early  autumn,  the  party  from  Cloyne 
xi  the  fair  vale  of  the  Cherwell  and  the  Isis,  and  saw  the 
(  and  Gothic  church  towers  so  associated  with  what  is 
it  in  English  life  and  history,  surrounded  by  the  soft  repose 
■al  English  scenery,  ail  presenting  to  the  thoughtful  visitor  a 
Lcic  unequalled  of  its  kind  in  the  world.  At  Oxford,  accord- 
3  tradition,  Berkeley  lived  with  his  family  in  a  house  in 
veil  Street,  near  the  gardens  of  New  College,  and  not  far 
the  cloisters  of  Magdalen.  This  can  hardly  have  been  his 
isit  to  the  place  for  which  he  had  so  characteristic  a  long- 
He  might  have  been  there  a  quarter  of  a  century  before,  in 
if  those  country  rambles  in  England  to  which  he  refers  in 
Mtcrs  to  Prior,  when  he  was  preparing  for  America — or 
ps  on  some  of  his  still  eariier  visits  to  London.  One  letter  in 
1  he  names  Oxford  was  written  in  1733,  when  he  alludes  to 
pproach  of  Commemoration,  at  which  the  entertainments  of 


in  mloediiigclupttrof  Ml,  Wright't 
Q*»rral  Wolfi  (1S64).  Iheie  [>  a 
jccoDQl  of  Wolfe'i  mcTfmcnti  in 
4ieo  he  wai  about  iwenly-fivc  yean 
In  the  arlj  niniinei  of  that  year  he 
Ibe  HiehliDdt  of  Scolliod,  and.  in 
liii  letttn  ftoiTi  thai  itmOft  Kgion, 
.  hk  falhet  at  Blackhcalh  an  account 
mfaaioat  oiurdci  of  Campbell  of 
UDone  the  Slewiits  of  Appin  in 
ire.  In  Julf  he  went  otci  (n 
te  lisil  hii  uncle,  old  Mr.  Wolfe, 
m1  long  lived  theie.  In  inotber 
I  hii  hStia.  (torn  Dublin,  he  iay>  (hat 
lyiag  I  few  dan  in  that  ciij  he 
10  -Kt  out  for  Cork,  where  I  <ha1l 
is  one  of  ihc  Btiftol  ihip) ;  and  if 
Ifidt  itrong  in  health  and  ciicum- 
ihall  continue  my  jonmey  from 
kfongh  the  West  and  io  home  [to 
ftth].'     Hit   biographei  add^  that 


soath  of  Ireland,  hJi  Tavige  Id  Bristol,  and 
hit  loar  in  the  west  of  England.  We  cmly 
know  thai  he  arrived  al  Blackheilh  on  the 
night  of  Wedneiday.  Stptembcr  j  ' — the 
lait  day,  by  the  way,  of  the  uncorrected 
calendar,    for    the  next    morning  wis  Sep- 

A  fortnight  after  Berkeley'i  death,  young 
Wolfe  wrote  ihui  to  hit  father  from  Pant: 
— '  The  good  Bijhop  is  at  liit  telnied  from 
the  miseiy  and  p>in  that  he  bai  lo  long 

hit  time  of  life  incurable,  Kii  death  li  not 
to  be  lamented  otherwiie  than  ai  concern) 
hii  family.  If  there'i  any  place  for  good 
men  hereafter,  I  beUeTe  he  ii  al  reit,  and 
entirely  fiee  from  all  complaint!,' 

'  Slock.  The  bidneit  of  the  roidt  ia 
England  11  the  nibjeci  of  tniclci  in  the 
Gmi.  Mag,  for  I7;j — in  parllcutai  thoie 
from  Bath  to  Oxford,  and  from  Cheitcr  lo 
London. 


338 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


music  were  to  be  '  the  finest  that  ever  were  known/  But  it  does 
not  appear  that  he  went  there  then.  Some  years  later  the  Oxford 
tendency  showed  itself  distinctly. 

Nor  can  he  have  gone  now  entirely  a  stranger  to  the  residents. 
'He  lived  there/  says  Stock,  'highly  respected  by  the  members 
of  that  great  University.*  His  friend.  Dr.  Conybeare,  the  Bishop 
of  Bristol,  was  Dean  of  Christ  Church,  and  to  him  he  had  en- 
trusted his  son.  Markham*,  afterwards  Archbishop  of  York,  is 
said  to  have  been  his  son's  tutor,  and  seems  to  have  been  in 
familiar  intercourse.  George  Home,  then  a  Fellow  of  Magdalen, 
and  afterwards  its  President,  who  became  the  close  friend  of  young 
George  Berkeley,  was  jwobably  no  stranger  in  the  house  in  Holy- 
well Street  *.  Seeker,  too,  had  now  held  the  bishopric  of  Oxford 
for  many  years,  and  in  1750,  when  Butler  was  promoted  to  Dur- 
ham, the  deanery  of  St.  PauFs  was  added  to  the  preferment  of 
the  Bishop  of  Oxford.  About  this  period  of  his  life,  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  spend  his  summers  in  his  palace  at  Cuddesden,  and 
his  winters  in  London'.  He  was  probably  at  Cuddesden  when 
the  Cloyne  family  arrived  at  Oxford  in  August. 

While  Berkeley  was  exchanging  Ireland  for  England^  death  was 
removi  ig  his  old  friends.  A  short  time  before  he  left  Qcync, 
he  mu3t  have  heard  of  the  death  of  Butler,  at  Bath,  where  Benson, 
at  the  request  of  Seeker,  aflfectionately  watched  the  last  hours  of 
the  great  author  of  the  Analogy  «.  Benson  himself  soon  followed. 
The  fatigue  and  anxiety  were  too  much  for  his  tender  spirit 
On  the  30th  of  this  August  he  too  was  taken  away.  Berkeley 
could  hardly  have  been  settled  in  his  Oxford  home  when  he  had 
to  bear  this  new  sorrow.  There  are  no  traces  of  close  intimacy 
between  him  and  Butler :  their  mind  and  temperament  were  in  a 
different  mould.  Benson,  whom  he  used  to  call '  Titus,  the  deligbt 
of  mankind,*  had  been  his  friend  and  correspondent  for  thirty  years. 


*  William  Markham  was  Dean  of  Christ 
Church  1767—77;  Bishop  of  Chester,  1771. 
In  1776  he  was  translated  to  the  arch- 
bishopric of  York,  which  he  held  till  his 
death  in  1807. 

*  Home  (afterwards  Bishop  of  Norwich) 
was  at  this  time  author  of  a  satirical  tract  on 
the  Theology  and  Philosophy  of  the  Somnium 
Scipionis  (1751),  and  soon  after  of  aa  attack 
on  the  Newtonian  philosophy,  on  Hutchinso- 


nian  principles.  He  became  a  FeDow  of 
Magdalen  In  1749.  He  is  popalarly  known 
as  the  writer  of  a  devout  Commeotaiy  00 
the  Psalms. 

*  Sec  Porteous's  Lift  of  Seeker. 

•  Butler  died  June  16,  1753.  Tar-water 
was  one.  of  the  remedies  tried  in  his  Ust 
illness,  as  Benson  says,  in  a  letter  to  Seeker, 
among  the  Seeker  MSS. 


«.] 


Oxford. 


He  perhaps  saw  him  for  the  last  time  in  London,  before  he  went 
to  Cloync.  At  any  rate  Benson  was  not  able  to  greet  him  on 
his  return  to  England.  Seeker,  in  his  unpublished  diary,  records 
that  'Berkeley,  the  Bishop  of  Cloync,  came  to  Oxford  this  summer 
[i752]>  before  his  friend  Benson's  deathi  but  I  think  not  before 
he  went  through  Oxfordshire,  so  that  he  did  not  see  him'.' 

It  is  a  pity  that  our  picture  of  Berkeley  at  Oxford  is  so  dim. 
The  recluse  philosopher,  with  his  reiined  social  idealism,  nowhere  i 
left  very  distinct  local  traces,  and  he  was  now  almost  withdrawn 
from  society  by  disease  and  suffering.  But  one  is  sorry  not  to 
live  with  him  for  a  little  in  a  place  like  thisj  even  though  Oxford 
in  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  was  living  on  the  inherited 
glories  of  ttie  past,  and  the  intellectual  and  religious  revolutions,  of 
which  it  has  since  been  the  centre,  were  then  in  the  distant  future. 
Learning  was  at  its  lowest  ebb  in  the  schools,  and  there  was  hardly 

ly  philosophic  thought  there  or  in  England.  The  stagnation  of 
that  generation  was  only  beginning  to  be  moved  by  the  religious 
fervour  of  Wesley,  whose  sermons  in  St.  Mary's,  a  few  years  earlier, 
denounced  with  prophetic  boldness  the  frivolous  life  of  the  Uni- 
versity. Among  the  dons  of  Oxford  in  1753,  no  name  is  associated 
with  more  than  mediocrity.     A  few  years  earlier,  however,  the 

Dp  of  Qloucaln.  and  ftom  that  <n  he 


*  S«d»r  MS8.  al  Lambtlh.  It  will  W 
nBacmboed  thil  Benton  wai  nuTricd  m 
Iccfcn't  tiiUf.  Nil  life  oriliit  much-loved 
Umi  ef  BdkelG;  hu  been  wntten.  Ac- 
(Wding  to  Puneoui,  in  hii  L^i  of  Stcta-. 
BcBsoii  *wu  edouleJ  at  the  Ctiariet-bouK, 
M<  fcmoird  IrDm  thence  to  Chiiil  Churth 
b  (hdbni.  where  he  hid  Kreril  noble  pupilt, 
titmc  frieoihhip  and  reDentian  Tor  him 
the    end    of    hii 


I  vi^lant  and  a 


!.      He 


H«  r< 


ived 


.  ihf 
which  he  wat  well  ikUled ; 
-lAdbe  bid  aUo  an  ncelknt  taile  fcx  painting, 
•rdMsctiue,  mil  the  other  fine  aitt.  He 
Iccoaipanicd  the  lile  Cail  tif  Pomfrcl  in  hit 
tnvd*,  and  in  Italy  becune  icqoainted  with 
Ml.  Berkelej.  u  he  did  at  Pirii  with  Mr. 
ScdHT.  He  w«  fiom  hit  youih  to  hii 
Inrar  age  the  delight  of  all  who  knew  him. 

e(  neat  ualural  humanity ;  polithed  by  a 
ttereo^  knowledge  of  tbe  wodd,  and  the 
BOft  perfect  good  breeding,  mixed  with  a 
iifftilj  which,  on  occsiioni  that  called  fof 
Km  one  more  properly  nipported.  It  wii 
maeb  againil  hit  will  that  he  wat  appointed 


he  augmented  several  livings — he  beauTifitd 
the  church,  and  greatly  improved  the  palace. 

Hit  [nety,  though  awfully  itrict.  war 

inelptcuibly  amiable.  It  diSuted  luch  a 
iweetneu  through  hit  temper,  anJ  such  1  be- 

were  acquainted  with  him  can  ever  forget. 
Bad  uervH.  bad  health,  ind  naturally  bad 
^rit!.  wen  (o  totally  lobdued  by  it,  that 
he  not  only  teemed,  but  in  reality  wat  the 
bappleil  of  men.  He  looked  upon  all  that 
the  world  calli  important,  in  pleaiuiei,  Ita 
richei,  it>  rarlout  compclitioiu,  with  a  playful 
and  good-humoured  kind  of  contempt ;  and 
could  make  penoni  athamed  of  their  fidllot, 
by  a  raillery  that  never  gave  pain  to  a  human 
being.  0(  vice  be  alwayi  tpoke  with  leverity 
and  deteilatlon,  but  looked  on  the  ricioni 
with  the  lendemeu  of  a  pitying  angd,* 
George  Whi'eficld  wa>  ordained  by  Bonioa 


340  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

future  author  of  the  Wealth  rfNatiams  went  to  study  there.  And  in 
the  April  of  this  very  year,  Edward  Gibbon  entered  Magdalen 
Collie,  to  spend  fourteen  months, — according  to  his  own  account, 
^  the  most  idle  and  unprofitable  of  his  whole  life.*  Among  the 
youths  who  sauntered  in  its  beautiful  gardens^  during  the  winter 
in  which  Berkeley  was  in  Holywell  Street,  mig^t  have  been  seen 
the  future  historian  of  the  Roman  Empire®. 

The  following  hitherto  unpiblished  letter*  ftx)m  Berkeley's  friend 
and  episcopal  neighbour.  Dr.  Jemmett  Browne,  Bishop  of  Cork 
and  Ross,  addressed  to  ^  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Cloyne  at  Oxford,' 
which  he  must  have  received  soon  after  his  arrival  there,  helps 
rather  to  relieve  the  faint  vision  we  have  of  him  in  his  English 
academic  retreat,  but  we  cannot  now  recover  ^honest  George's* 
account  of  the  journey  from  Cloyne: — 

My  good  Lord, 

Had  not  honest  George  given  me  first  an  account  of  your  voyage, 
journey,  and  good  health,  I  might  have  said  I  never  received  a  letter 
which  gave  me  more  pleasure  than  the  one  you  favoured  me  with; 
tho'  it  was  long  coming,  I  suppose  owing  to  the  want  of  3  or  4 
pacquets. 

I  doe  most  sincerely  congratulate  you  on  your  having  made  your 
voyage  and  journey  so  easy^®,  and  on  the  good  health  you  enjoy,  and  that 
Mrs.  Berkeley,  Mrs.  Juliana[?],  and  George  are  well  and  all  happy 
together,  and  where  you  would  be.  I  never  doubted  that  the  change 
of  air,  and  gentle  exercise,  and  a  new  scene  would  be  of  use  to  you ;  and 
if  you  are  provided  with  a  convenient  habitation  I  am  sure  you  will  meet 
with  every  [thing]  at  Oxford  that  may  make  it  agreeable  to  you;  tHo' 
I  must  allow  the  loss  of  such  a  friend  as  the  Bishop  of  Gloucester  is 
scarce  to  be  repaired — he  is  indeed  a  loss  to  the  Church  also.  It  is, 
however,  I  hope  for  your  comfort  that  the  worthy  Bp.  of  Bristoll  is  so 
near  you ;  but  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of  being  known  to  him ;  I  can 
only  judge  of  him  from  his  writings  and  character,  which  raise  him  high 
in  my  esteem,  and  as  a  Christian  Bishop  I  rejoiced  at  his  promotion. 
He  has  highly  honoured  me  by  his  favourable  mention  of  me  to  yoo, 

•  Gibbon's  picture  of  Oxford  in  1 751 — 53,  an  account  of  Bishop  Jemmett  Browne, 
in  his  Memoirs  of  his  Life,  is  well  known ;  *®  It   appears,  from  the  register  of  the 

also  Adam  Smith's  reference  to  Oxford,  as  it  weather  in  that  year,  that  after  the  middle 

was  in  1740 — 47,  in  the  Wealth  of  Nations.  of  August  *it  became  fair  and  dear/  and 

'  Berkeley  Papers,    Cf.  note,  p.  284,  for  so  continued  till  the  a5th. 


nt.] 


Oxford. 


vA 


and  I  should  be  oblidged  lo  your  Ldp.  if  you  would  present  my  best  \ 
respects  to  him,  and  assure  him  of  my  regard  for  him.  I  alsoe  pray  yott  [ 
lo  present  my  compliments  lo  Dr.  Fanshaw",  if  he  is  so  happy  as  to  be  1 
known  to  you. 

I  have  scarce  stirred  from  home  but  to  my  Visitation  at  Ross  since 
I  saw  you,  and  am  not  furnished  with  any  news  for  you  or  the  Ladies. 
I  suppose  it  is  none  y'  Lady  Dorothy  and  Count  Dubois  were  marryed 
lately  in  Shandon  Church  on  a  Sunday,  and  that  they  went  off  directly 
lo  the  County  ofWexford.  J  shall  be  ready  to  set  out  to  confirm  in  the 
Diocese  of  Cloyne,  as  soon  as  Dr.  Berkeley"  has  fixed  the  most  convenient 
lime  and  places ;  the  wheaiher  has  been  so  bad  untill  now  that  the  roads 
were  very  deep,  &c,  I  must  again  repeal  it  that  I  pray  you  may  not 
Spare  to  employ  me  in  any  duty  in  your  Diocese  that  you  may  wish  to 
have  done,  as  I  should  chearfull  contribute  all  in  my  power  lo  prevent 
your  absence  beinj  attended  with  any  inconvenience  to  you.  If  you 
have  looked  into  a  late  performance  of  Dr.  Hodges,  addressed  to 
Dr.  Conybeare,  or  hear  a  good  account  of  it,  I  should  be  glad  to  know 
it,  and  would  send  for  it;  from  his  treatise  on  Job  I  am  inclined  to 
ihink  well  of  any  performance  of  his",  I  am  sorry  to  be  able  to  inform 
yon  that  the  Bp  of  C.  pushed  lo  be  our  Metropolitan",  for  1  fear  he  would 
sot  have  attempted  it  had  he  not  had  some  powerful!  support.  My 
family,  thanks  to  God,  are  all  tolerably  welk  except  tl»e  diil  ....  and 
most  sincerely  wish  you  and  yours  well.  I  look  well  and  am  growing 
bx,  but  I  sensibly  feel  that  I  am  growing  feeble.  Should  I  ever  come  to 
debate  about  a  jaunt  to  Bath  or  Spaws— my  friends  at  Oxford  would, 
I  believe,  determine  me  for  going— for  really  I  long  to  see  you  all.  I 
pray  you  to  present  my  sincere  good  wishes  lo  Mrs.  Berkeley,  Miss  Berke- 
ley, and  honest  George,  and  be  assured,  my  good  Lord,  that  I  am 
Your  Lordship's 
most  affectionate  brother  and  faithful  servant, 

JEMMETT  CORKE  AND  ROSS. 
Corkt,  Stfl.  19,,  \i^i.  I 

1  bad  thought  of  enclosing  this  to  B.  of  Bristoll  but  I  cannot  get  a  fk. 


"  Then  Regius  ProfttMC  of  DiTinily,  pie- 
naiulf  of  Gi«k,  al  Oxfoid. 

<•  The  rectm  of  Midleton,  who  wii  com- 

■liiii 1    lo    bold   fiiitaiioDi  during   hu 

biDther't  atnence. 

■■  W.ller  HodKj,  D.D..  w«  Piovrnt  of 
OiW  (1717— sO'  '"  1750  h*  publithcd 
Mthm,  or  a-  l-^ry  iM>  lb.  Boot  0/  yob. 
Mlnrad  bf  Tbt  Cbrntian  Plan  ixbibilid  in 


Ibt  inttrpTilaiion  of  Elohim,  which  wu  pub- 


«  Mmh  175.. 


lished  at  Oifort 

woik  here  nftntd  to.    Both  book)  iniaclcd 

(orae  mention  al  ihe  lime,  paitly  foi  their 

'*  Dr.  Whilcombe,  Bilhop  of  Down  and 
Connor,  wii   in  Augiut   (?•  '      '     ' 

biibop  of  Caihel.  in  which 
Cork  and  Cloync 


ti  proiiDce  were 


I 


/ 


34^ 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


Berkeley  was  once  more  to  address  the  world.  In  October 
1 752,  ^A  Miscellany  cmtainimg  several  Tracts  om  various  SuijectSy  by 
the  Bishop  of  Cloyne/  was  published  simultaneously  in  Londoa 
and  Dublin.  With  one  exception,  the  Miscellany  was  a  reprint 
of  works  previously  published  ^^.  But  the  old  ardour  was  not 
extinguished.  It  contains  also  Further  Thoughts  om  Tar  Water^ 
written  probably  during  his  last  months  at  Qoyne;  and  prefixed 
to  the  Miscellany  is  a  copy  of  Latin  verses  addressed  to  him  by  an 
English  prelate  on  that  absorbing  enthusiasm  of  his  old  age^^. 

A  third  edition  of  Alciphron^  of  which  I  have  given  a  minute 
account  elsewhere",  was  also  published  at  this  time.  It  is  chiefly 
remarkable  for  its  omission  of  those  sections  in  the  Seventh 
Dialogue  which  contains  a  defence  of  what  has  been  called  his 


"  The  contents  of  the  Miscellany  are  at 
follows : — 

I.  Further  Thoughts  on  Tar  Water, 
a.  An  Essay  towards  preventing  the  Ruin 
of  Great  Britain, 

3.  A  Discourse  addressed  to  Magistrates 

and  Men  in  authority,  occasioned  by 
the  enormous  licence  and  irreUgion 
of  the  Times, 

4.  A  Word  to  the  Wise :  or,  an  Exhorta- 

tion to  the  Roman  Catholic  Clergy 
of  Ireland. 

5.  A  Letter  to  the  Roman  Catholics  of  the 

Diocese  of  Cloyne. 

6.  Maxims  concerning  Patriotism. 

7.  Tl>e  Querist :  containing  Several  Que- 

ries proposed  to  the  consideration  of 
the  Public. 

8.  Verses  by  the  Author  on  the  Prospect 

of  planting  Arts  and  Learmng  in 
America. 

9.  A  Proposal  for  the  better  supplying  of 

Churches  in  our  Foreign  Plantations 
and  for  Converting  the  Savage  Ame- 


ricans to  Cbristianiiy,  by  a  OoUege  to 
he  erected  in  the  Summer  Islands, 
otherwise  called  &e  Isles  qf  Bermuda, 

10.  A  Sermon  preached  before  the  Ineorpo- 

rated  Society  for  the  Propagation  cf 
the  Go^  in  Foreign  Parte,  at  their 
anniversary  meeting  in  the  Parish 
Church  of  St,  Ma^^Bow,  om  Frir 
day,  February  18,  173^. 

11,  De  Motu;  tive  de  Moius  Prineipio  et 

Natura,  et  de  causa  Commumieatioim 
Motuum. 
The  Miscellany  has  for  its  motto  on  the 
title-page — 
*  Modo  me  Thebis,  modo  ponit  Athenis.' 
^  This  is  an  appreciative  Latin  *  Ode  to 
the  author  of  Siris,  by  the  R.  R.  T.  L.  B.O. 
N.*     [Rt.  Rev.  the  Ld.  Bp.  of  Nonrich?— 
then  Dr.  Hayter]  which  also  appeared  in 
the  Gentleman* s  Magazine  in  October  X753f 
in    English   as  well    as    in   Latin.      Here 
Berkeley  is  ranked  with   Hippocrates  and 
Sydenham,  Newton  and  Boyle,  and  addressed 
as  one  who— 


*like  them  displayed 
The  laws  which  heaven,  earth,  air,  and  seas  obeyed; 
Hc^t  taught  what  quickening  flame,  what  active  soul. 
Pervading  Nature,  animates  the  whole; 
The  sinewy  limbs  with  vital  force  distends ; 
Blows  in  the  flower,  and  in  the  root  descends. 
The  plant  still  varies  as  our  wants  require. 
And  gives  us  clothing,  medicine,  food,  and  fire; 
But  chief  the  lofty  Fm;   salubrious  tree! 
What  strains  of  grateful  praise  are  due  to  thee : 
To  thee,  the  glory  of  the  north  designed. 
Set  in  some  hour  designed  to  bless  mankind.* 


"  Berkeley's  Works,  vol.  II. — Appendix. 


IX.]  Oxford.  34W 

Nominalism.  But  there  is  no  indication,  here  or  anywhere,  of 
a  further  unfolding  of  his  phtiosophical  principles,  as  the  result  of 
the  ycar3  of  study  which  followed  the  publication  of  Shis,  nor  any 
reference  to  contemporary  speculation.  It  is  rather  curious  that 
althou^  David  Hume's  '  still-born  '  TYeathe  of  Human  Nature  had 
then  been  before  the  world  for  fourteen  years,  and  his  Inquiry  ctm- 
cemhig  Human  VndrrsranMng  for  nearly  four  years,  no  allusion  to 
Hume  is  to  be  found  either  in  the  published  or  the  hitherto  un- 
pubhshed  writings  of  Berkeley,  Yet  he  was  Berkeley's  intellectual 
successor  in  the  leadership  of  European  thought,  as  far  as  specula- 
tive power,  subtlety,  and  the  general  line  of  inquiry  pursued  are 
concerned  i  and  in  both  these  works  the  Scotch  philosopher  gives 
his  own  negative  solution  of  the  chief  questions  which  Berkeley 
h^  pursued  from  youth  to  old  age.  Berkeley's  attack  upon  ab- 
stractions, as  weU  as  his  metaphysical  analysis  of  mathematical 
quantity  and  of  the  material  world,  largely  influenced  the  philo- 
sophical education  of  Hume;  as  Hume  in  his  turn  awoke  Kant, 
and  through  Kant  modern  Germany.  Berkeley,  Hume,  and 
Kant  were  the  three  great  speculative  minds  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  connected  in  chronological  and  philosophical  succession. 
They  held  respectively  the  supreme  intellectual  place  in  the 
beginning,  in  the  middle,  and  in  the  latter  part  of  the  century. 
Hume  had  produced  his  philosophy,  and  even  Kant  had  b^un  to 
write  before  Berkeley  died ;  Kanf  s  name,  however,  was  hardly 
known  in  England  half  a  century  later.  Hartley's  Ohsrr^ations  m  Man 
appeared  in  1749,  and  followed  a  course  of  thought  at  some  points 
parallel  with  that  of  Berkeley,  but  Hartley  too  is  unnamed.  That 
Reid,  who  has  since  been  so  connected  popularly  with  Berkeley 
by  antagonism,  should  also  have  been  unknownis  not  wonderful'*. 
In  1753  he  was  the  author  only  of  a  now  forgotten  tract  on 
gj«*»/iryi  his  first  psychological  work,  t!ie  Inquiry^  in  which 
Berkeley  is  a  prominent  figure,  was  not  published  till  1764 '\ 

It  was   in  the   year  when   Berkeley  was  at   Oxford  that   Dr. 
Samuel  Johnson  published  the  Elemma  Phl/osopi>ica^  containing 

"  Reid  iMnu  10  luve  brcn  )  pupil  of  hit  about  Cnttj  years  ififl  their  iiri)  publiulioii. 

(rinul  Blukwell  It  Aberdcfli.  The  GenlUman't  Magaam,    in    1751    and 

■•  Berkcley'i  eifly  pbilwophici!  woihi —  '75'.   b"    frequent    ilight    ditomioni    of 

bi>  Nrw  Tbnry  of  Vvaim  ind  Prindpla  of  potnti  in  hii  theory  of  Tiiion  and  of  the 

Bummm  Knovlidgt — bej^n  now  ID  engage  OBtuie  of  leniible  thlngi. 


4 


344 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


NoeticM  and  EtUca^  in  which  the  new  conception  of  the  material 
world  was  adopted  and  applied.  This  work,  referred  to  in  a 
former  chapter,  is  remarkable  for  the  prominence  given  to  pure 
intellect  and  its  acts  or  notions,  intellectual  light,  and  intuitive 
evidence,  as  well  as  for  its  adoption  of  Berkele/s  visual  symbolism, 
and  analysis  of  sensible  reality. 


And  so  the  autumn  and  winter  of  1752  were  passing  away,  as 
we  may  fancy,  in  that  enjoyment  of  academic  repose  which  was 
possible  in  weakness  of  body  more  or  less  disturbed  by  acute 
suflFering.  We  are  here  left  to  fancy.  One  actual  scene  has  alone 
been  preserved.  On  the  evening  of  Sunday  the  14th  of  January, 
1753,  Berkeley  was  resting  on  a  couch,  in  his  house  in  Holywell 
Street,  surrounded  by  his  family.  His  wife  had  been  reading 
aloud  to  the  little  family  party  the  lesson  in  the  Burial  Service^ 
taken  from  the  fifteenth  chapter  of  the  first  epistle  to  the  Corinth- 
ians, and  he  had  been  making  remarks  upon  that  sublime  passage. 
His  daughter  soon  after  went  to  offer  him  some  tea.  She  found 
him,  as  it  seemed,  asleep,  but  his  body  was  already  cold ;  for  it 
was  the  last  sleep— the  mystery  of  death  j  and  the  world  of  the 
senses  had  suddenly  ceased  to  be  a  medium  of  intercourse  between 
his  spirit  and  those  who  remained.  'Although  all  possible  means,' 
we  are  told, '  were  used,  not  the  least  symptom  of  life  ever  after- 
wards appeared  20/ 


*  I  have  here  chiefly  followed  the  acconnt 
which  has  the  sanction  of  Mrs.  Berkeley 
{Biog.  Brit.  vol.  III. — *  Addenda  and  Corri- 
genda ').  Stock  says  that  it  was  *  a  Sermon 
of  Dr.  Sherlock's  which  his  lady  was  reading 
to  him.'  A  fuller  narrative  is  given  in  the 
Life  of  Newton,  Bishop  of  Bristol.  *  Few 
persons/  says  his  biographer,  '  have  such 
an  easy  passage  out  of  life  [as  Bishop 
Newton].  Something  of  the  same  kind 
is  related  of  Bishop  Berkeley.  It  is  well 
known  that  this  worthy  good  man  was 
ibr  some  of  the  last  years  of  his  life  de- 
sirous of  changing  his  bishopric  of  Cloyne 
for  a  canonry  of  Christ  Church  in  Oxford. 
If  he  had  been  bred  at  Oxford  the  wonder 
would  have  been  less  of  his  desiring  such  an 
exchange ;  but  he  received  his  education  at 
Trinity  College  in  Dublin.  !t  was  an  ex- 
traordinary request,  and  such  as  by  no 
means  he  could  obtain ;  but  yet  he  came 
Asd  took  a  house  and  settled   in  Oxford. 


One  evening  he  and  his  family  were  sitting 
and  drinking  tea  together  ;  he  on  one  side 
of  the  fire,  his  wife  on  the  other,  and  his 
daughter  making  the  tea  at  a  little  round 
table  just  behind  him.  She  had  given  him 
one  dish  which  he  had  drunk.  She  had 
poured  out  another,  which  was  left  standing 
some  time.  **  Sir,"  said  she,  **  will  you  not 
take  your  tea  ?"  Upon  his  making  no  kind 
of  answer  she  stooped  forward  to  look  upon 
him,  and  found  that  he  was  dead  I '  {Liftt 
p.  307.)  Berkeley's  death  is  thus  announced 
in  Faulkner's  Dublin  Journal  of  Jan.  23: 
*  On  Sunday  sevennight,  died  at  Oxford  of 
an  apoplexy,  the  Rev.  Dr.  George  Berke- 
ley, Bishop  of  Cloyne.  He  came  to  that 
place  about  the  end  of  July  last,  intending 
to  enjoy  there  (what  he  was  pleased  to  call) 
a  learned  retirement ;  where  he  was  held  in 
such  high  esteem,  that  his  short  stay  there 
has  doubled  the  grief  of  his  icqaaintance 
for  the  loss  of  one  of  the  moit  excellent  of 


I IX.] 


Oxford.~The  End. 


345 


Six  days  later,  on  the  aoth  of  January,  he  was  buried  in  the 
chapel  of  Christ  Church*'.  His  memory  was  thus  entrusted  to  the 
University  which  he  loved,  with  which  death,  and  his  own  admira- 
tion for  it  when  he  lived  have  associated  his  name. 

On  the  day  of  Berkeley's  burial  his  Will  was  proved  at  London. 
This  is  a  curious  and  characteristic  production.  It  was  brought 
into  light  for  the  first  time,  in  the  summer  of  1870,  at  Doctors' 
Commons,  from  the  dust  and  darkness  of  more  than  a  hundred  years. 
It  was  written,  it  seems,  in  the  July  before  he  died — that  July  in 
which  he  was  winding  up  his  affairs  at  Cloyne,  leaving  his  de- 
mesne lands  for  the  poor,  and  making  arrangements  ftir  the 
visitation  of  the  diocese  after  his  departure.  Here  is  a  copy, 
officially  extracted  from  the  Principal  Registry  of  Her  Majesty's 
Court  of  Pr(Aate:— 

Ix  the  name  of  God,  Amen.  I,  George  Berkeley,  Bishop  of  Cloyne, 
being  sound  of  mind  and  memory,  do  make  this  my  last  Will  and 
TestamenL 

Krst,  I  do  humbly  recommend  my  Soul  into  the  hands  of  my  blessed 
Redeemer,  by  whose  merils  and  intercession  I  hope  for  mercy. 

As  to  my  Body  and  Effects,  I  dispose  of  ihem  in  the  following 
manner: — 

It  is  my  will  that  my  Body  be  buried  in  the  church-yard  of  the  parish 
in  which  I  die  : 

Item,  that  the  expense  of  my  funeral  do  not  exceed  twenty  pounds, 
and  that  as  much  more  Ik  given  to  the  poor  of  the  parish  where  I  die : 

Item,  tliat  my  Body,  before  it  b  buried,  be  kept  five  days  above 
ground,  or  longer,  even  till  it  grow  offensive  by  the  cadaverous  smell, 
and  that  during  the  said  time  it  lye  unwashed,  undisturbed,  and  covered 
br  the  same  bed  clothes,  in  the  same  bed,  the  head  being  raised  upoa 
pillows: 

Item,  that  my  dear  wife  Anne  be  sole  executrix  of  this  my  Will,  and 
guardian  of  my  children — to  which  said  wife  Anne  I  leave  and  bequeath 


am.'  DeUilt,  aurly  mi  given  above,  aie 
nUcd  iu  the  roUowing  number  of  iht  HiMin 
y— Bill  See  alio  Gtni.  Mag,  Cot  Jannary 
1753,  vbere  it  ii  laid  thai  Berkeley  intended 
J  duM  yan'  reiidoice  at  Oirord.  The 
rtiifir  &oin  which  he  hii  suffered  to  long 
■n  acrroiu  Mlic,  iggiarated  t^  ■  cotnpli- 
aOieo  of  othci  maladlo,  and  with  ftcqucnl 


hypochondria — all  apparently  increued  bj 
bit  icdenwry  life  in  hii  later  yeatt. 

"  The  Chriii  Church  Regi»ler  coouiiu 

■  Januaiy  y  10th.  1 753.  Y*  Right  R«Te- 
read  Jobn  Birilty  [lie)  L*  BP  of  Cloyiw 
wai  butycd.' 


346 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


all  my  worldly  goods  and  substance,  to  be  disposed  of  as  to  her  shall 
seem  good : 

Item,  it  is  my  will  that  in  case  my  said  wife  should  die  intestate,  all  my 
worldly  goods,  substance  and  possessions  of  what  kind  soever,  shall  be 
equally  divided  among  my  children : 

In  witness  whereof  I  have  herewith  put  my  hand  and  seal  this  thirty- 
first  day  of  July,  anno  Domini,  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  fifty- 
two. 

GEORGE  CLOYNE. 

Signed,  sealed,  and  declared  to  be  the  last  Will  of  George  Berkeley, 
Bishop  of  Cloyne,  in  the  presence  of  us  who,  at  his  desire  and  in  his 
presence,  have  subscribed  our  names. 

MARMADUKE  PHILIPS. 

RICHARD  BULLEN. 

JAMES  HANNING,  N.P.« 

Proved  at  London  before  the  Judge,  on  the  20th  of  January,  1753,  by 
the  oath  of  Anne  Berkeley,  widow,  the  relict  of  the  deceased,  and  sole 
executrix  named  in  the  said  Will,  to  whom  administration  was  granted, 
being  first  sworn  by  commission  duly  to  administer. 


What  incident,  or  what  train  of  thought,  induced  the  curious 
provision  about  the  'body/  one  can  only  conjecture.  That  the 
'effects*  were  inconsiderable  may  almost  be  inferred  from  Ber- 
keley's habits  of  diffusive  benevolence,  as  well  as  from  signs  of 
uneasy  circumstances  in  his  family  not  long  after  his  death. 

The  spot  in  the  chapel  of  Christ  Church  where  his  body  was 


"  Though  the  place  at  which  the  Will 
was  signed  is  not  mentioned,  it  must  have 
been  Cloyne,  as  the  witnesses  were  Clo3me 
people : — 

(a)  Marmaduke  Philips,  D.D.,  was  one 
of  the  Prebendaries  of  Cloyne,  (1751 — 73), 
and  Rector  of  Jnniscarra.  He  seems  to 
have  been  an  intimate  friend  of  Berkeley. 
Cf.  p.  335.  He  was  author  of  a  Sermon 
preached  be/ore  the  House  of  Commons  on 
the    Anniversary    of  the    Irish    Rebellion 


See 


(Dublin,   1765).     He   died   in   1770, 
Brady's  Records,  vol.  II.  p.  338. 

(6)  Richard  BuUen  was  Rector  of  Kil- 
nemartery,  in  the  diocese  of  Cloyne  (1740— 
76),  and  afterwards  of  Donaghmore,  till  his 
death  in  1 789. 

(c)  Hanning  was  Registrar  of  the  dioc«e 
of  Cloyne,  and  his  name  (and  that  of  Bullen) 
often  occurs  in  the  Rev.  William  Berkeley's 
MS.  Diary,  in  1773.     Cf.  note,  p.  282. 


IX.]  Oxford. — The  End.  347 

laid  is  marked  by  an  inscription  which  does  not  exaggerate  the 
extraordinary  r^ard  and  love  of  his  contemporaries: — 

Gravissimo  Praesuli, 

Georgio,  Episcopo  Clonensi: 

Viro, 

Seu  ingenii  et  eruditionis  laudem, 

Seu  probitatis  et  beneficentiae  spectemus. 

Inter  primos  omnium  aetatum  nnmerando. 

Si  Chrisdanus  fiieris, 

Si  amans  patriae 

Utroque  nomine  gloriari  potes, 

BERKLEIUM 

.  Vixisse. 

Obiit  annum  agens  septuagesimmn  tertimn*^: 

Natus  anno  Christi  ildo.lxxix. 

Anna  Conjux 

L.  M.  P. 


In  person  Berkeley,  in  the  faint  glimpses  we  have  of  him,  by 
description  or  portrait,  seems  of  the  ordinary  height,  handsomely 
made,  the  face  full  and  rather  round,  of  fair  complexion,  with 
dark  brown,  penetrating  eyes,  bushy  eyebrows,  and  abundant 
brown  hair,  the  nose  straight  and  large,  the  lips  gently  compressed, 
and  a  well-formed  chin.  There  is  an  expression  of  benevolent 
thoughtfiilness  and  simplicity,  not  without  traces  of  the  re- 
fined humour  which  appears  in  his  writings,  and  animated 
by  a  mild,  pious,  persistent  enthusiasm.  He  was  naturally 
strong  and  active,  and  remarkable  for  erect,  manly  grace, 
but  the  robust  body  was  latterly  reduced  by  sedentary  habits 
and  much  study.  The  story  of  his  life,  his  letters,  and  even 
his  portraits,  show  the  contrast  between  what  he  was  before, 
and  what  he  became  after  the  Bermuda  expedition.  The  restless 
impetuosity  of  the  period  which  preceded  the  stay  in  Rhode  Island, 
with  the  rich  and  varied  social  intercourse  of  those  early  years, 
in  England  and  on  the  Continent,  was  then  suddenly,  and  as  it 
seemed  congenially,  exchanged  for  comparative  seclusion,  followed 

"  This  mistake  about  his  age  is  noted  by  Stock.      The  inscription  was  written  by 
Dr.  Markham. 


348 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


by  broken  health,  and  the  almost  unbroken  quiet  of  family  life 
during  eighteen  years  at  Cloyne.  He  seems  more  sombre  and 
meditative  after  his  return  from  America,  and  tempered  more 
by  a  tone  of  what  Coleridge  called  ^  other-worldliness,'  as  earthly 
objects  gradually  lost  their  lustre  in  the  contemplated  reality 
of  supernatural  existence**. ' 

His  spiritual  physiognomy  must  be  gathered  from  his  writings, 
and  from  the  imperfect  records  of  his  life.  By  the  unanimous 
report  of  contemporaries,  the  charm  of  his  conversation  and 
manner  in  society  was  unsurpassed — an  easy  flow  of  words,  simple 


*  There  are  at  least  nine  pictures  of 
Berkeley,  in  Britain,  Ireland,  and  America. 

In  a  former  chapter  I  have  given  some 
account  of  the  Yale  College  picture  by 
Smibert,  to  which  this  volume  owes  its 
engraving 

Trinity  College,  Dublin,  possesses  three. 
One  of  these  is  a  full  length  painting,  in 
the  Examination  Hall,  of  uncertain  history, 
the  artist  unknown.  It  represents  the 
Bishop  standing  with  a  book  in  his  left  and 
a  pen  in  his  right  hand,  the  hair  flowing 
in  dark  waving  lines  over  the  shoulders. 
Another,  in  the  Fellows*  Common  room, 
places  him  in  a  sitting  posture,  a  wig 
concealing  the  natural  hair,  and  he  seems 
engaged  in  composing  some  work.  The 
third  is  in  the  Provost's  house.  It  was 
painted  in  175 1,  for  his  friend  Dr.  Palliser, 
the  Vice -Provost,  in  whose  family  it  long  re- 
mained. It  seems  to  be  the  latest,  and  is  one 
of  the  most  interesting  portraits  of  Berkeley. 
A  very  good  engraving  has  been  taken  from 
it. 

Another  picture  of  Berkeley,  now  in 
Dublin,  is  possessed  by  his  descendant,  Mr. 
Robert  Berkeley,  Q.C.,  Upper  Mount  Street. 
It  seems  to  have  been  the  earliest  done  of 
all,  for  I  am  told  it  was  painted  when  he 
was  in  Italy.  It  came  to  its  present  pos- 
sessor from  Mrs.  Sackville  Hamilton, 
daughter  of  Dr.  Robert  Berkeley. 

Three  other  pictures  are  in  England. 

The  oldest  of  these  belongs  to  the  Rev. 
Dr.  Irons,  rector  of  Wadingham.  It  was 
done  by  Smibert  in  1725,  when  Berkeley 
was  living  in  London.  It  is  rather  less  than 
life  size,  a  sitting  posture,  the  left  hand 
resting  on  a  book  perpendicularly  placed  on 
the  knee,  and  the  right  supported  on  the 
elbow  of  his  chair.  The  dress  b  a  plain 
black  cassock,  large  lawn  bands,  with  a 
clerical  cap  fitting  close  to  the  head. 

Another  was  the  property  of  the  Bishop's 


grandnephew.  General  Sackville  Berkeley, 
and  is  now  possessed  by  his  son,  the  Rev. 
Sackville  Berkeley.  It  is  a  life  size,  showing 
as  far  as  the  knees.  The  date  is  unknown. 
He  is  dressed  in  episcopal  robes.  Some 
labourers  are  seen  at  work  through  a  win- 
dow. 

At  Lambeth  there  is  a  life-sixe  standing 
figure,  seen  to  the  knees.  He  rests  his  left 
hand  on  a  blue  covered  table,  above  which, 
seen  through  a  square  window,  is  a  ship 
with  full  sails  on  a  dashing  sea.  There  is 
a  small  book  in  his  right  hand,  inscribed 
•  Voyage  to  the  Indies.'  The  eyes  and  hair 
are  dark  brown,  and  the  complezioo  almost 
a  ruddy  brown.  He  wears  episcopal  robes. 
The  artist  is  not  known. 

There  is,  lastly,  a  remarkable  picture  of 
Berkeley,  said  to  be  by  Vanderbank,  in  his 
lawn  sleeves,  with  the  'broken  dstems' 
which  form  the  frontispiece  of  Aleipbrtm 
in  the  background.  According  to  a  letter 
by  Dr.  Todd,  in  Notts  and  QutrUs  (April 
30,  1853),  a  picture  corresponding  to  this 
description  was  at  one  time  intended  for 
Trinity  College,  Dublin,  by  the  mother  of 
Monck  Berkeley,  and  a  curious  letter  from 
her,  dated  February  19,  1797>  is  given  by 
Dr.  Todd.  She  may  have  changed  her  mind, 
as  the  picture  was  never  presented  to  the 
University.  The  one  I  refer  to  came  into 
the  possession  of  the  late  Sir  David  Brewster, 
in  whose  house  at  Allerly  I  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  it. 

Engravings  of  Berkeley  are  not  uncom- 
mon, and  Mrs.  Berkeley,  in  the  Pre&oe  to 
her  son's  Poems,  mentions  *a  wonderfully 
fine  ivory  medallion,  taken  of  Bishop  Ber- 
keley at  Rome,  when  a  young  nun,'  but  this 
I  have  not  been  able  to  trace.  Nor  can  I 
trace  the  picture  done  by  Mrs.  Berkeley, 
and  sent  to  Prior  (cf.  p.  308),  or  identify 
it  with  one  of  those  now  mentlooed. 


DC] 


Oxford. —  The  E)id. 


349 


and  unaffected,  but  with  turns  of  thought  of  surprising  ingenuity, 
served  by  a  ready  memory  and  fancy,  and  with  information  cor- 
responding to  his  uncommon  observational  inquisitiveness.  Of 
the  tones  of  his  voice,  whether  Irish,  or  English,  or  cosmopolitan, 
there  is  no  account  j  nor  has  any  Boswet!  preserved  examples  of 
his  table-talk.  Hardly  anywhere,  I  almost  think,  do  we  come 
nearer  to  him,  in  the  daily  life  of  his  rather  restless  prime,  than 
when  we  follow  him  in  the  diary  of  his  wanderings  in  Italy,  now 
given  to  the  world,  and  there  see  how  cordially  he  entered  into 
everything  around  him,  how  genial  he  was  in  his  intercourse 
with  strangers,  and  how  energetically  inquisitive  into  the  insti- 
tutions and  customs  of  the  countries  through  which  he  passed. 
His  love  for  the  bcautiftil,  and  his  artistic  eye,  are  shown  in  the 
constant  references  to  the  treasures  of  ancient  and  modern  Italy. 
The  good  nature  with  which  he  meets  the  inconveniences  of 
travelling  show  how  pleasant  a  companion  he  must  have  been. 
One  wishes  for  a  diary  of  his  life  in  Rhode  Island — or  in  the 
episcopal  palace  at  Cloyne,  domesticated  among  his  children  and 
his  poor  neighbours,  and  among  his  books. 

Most  of  his  letters  which  have  been  recovered  inadequately 
represent  the  intellectual  power  which  might  have  marked  his 
intercourse  with  friends  to  whom  high  speculation  was  con- 
genial. They  naturally  reflect,  in  some  measure,  the  qualities  of 
his  correspondents.  Thomas  Prior,  to  whom  so  many  of  them 
were  addressed,  was  hardly  one  to  draw  out  Berkeley's  singular 
powers  of  reason  and  imagination.  Two  of  his  letters  to 
Johnson  show  what  his  correspondence,  for  instance,  with 
Clarke,  or  with  Butler,  might  have  been:  the  few  addressed  to 
Pope  which  remain,  make  us  wish  that  we  could  recover  more-', 
TTiose  to  Dean  Gervais  are  relieved  by  gleams  of  humour  and 
touches  of  pensive  beauty,  in  the  years  of  suffering  at  Cloyne. 

At  Cloyne  he  seems  to  have  withdrawn  more  and  more  into  his 
library.  He  spent  the  morning  and  a  great  part  of  the  day  in 
study,  in  the  company  often  of  Plato,  whose  manner  he  has  caught 
more  nearly  than  any  English  writer.     In  the  family  dissolution, 

■Pope, 
liaaD  by  bi 

jiddBl  ID  hi>  jnit^ent  u 
un  in  tbc  origiTul  ti 
Ha*.     Mi     •      ■- 


I 


I  for  Beikelcf.      He 


imitted  il,  b;  idTice  of  Dem 


350  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

his  large  and  valuable  collection  of  books  and  pictures  was  un- 
fortunately dispersed  after  the  death  of  his  son ;  and  we  cannot 
now  tell  who  were  his  favourite  associates  among  the  illustrious 
dead.    It  appears  as  if  his  library  contained  many  foreign  books^^ 

Berkeley  was  hx  removed  from  pedantry.  He  united  much  oi 
the  learning  of  the  scholar  with  a  knowledge  of  the  wcH-ld  that 
was  occasionally  overborne  by  his  own  benevolent  simplicity  and 
gentle  enthusiasm.  As  a  scholar  he  was  accomplished  rather  than 
profound.  He  wrote  and  spoke  French  fluently,  and  seems  to 
have  been  not  less  familiar  with  Italian.  His  Latin  style  was 
clear,  easy,  and  correct.  His  love  for  the  languages  and  literature 
of  the  ancient  world  was  shown  in  the  donations  and  bequests  he 
made  to  Yale  College,  and  to  Trinity  College,  Dublin  ^  and  his 
Italian  diary,  Alcsphron^  and  Strif^  illustrate  his  classical  accom- 
plishments and  philosophical  learning.  If  one  may  judge  of  his 
intimacy  with  the  best  English  books  by  his  own  style,  it  must 
have  been  extensive,  for  the  purity  and  beauty  of  his  language 
are  perhaps  unequalled  by  previous  prose  authors.  While  he  wants 
the  terse  vigour  of  Hobbes,  and  the  manly  Saxon  of  Swift,  he 
is  unapproached  in  the  English  literature  of  metaphysical  philo- 
sophy, in  the  power  of  adapting  the  expressions  of  ordinary  lan- 
guage to  philosophical  meanings  the  most  subtle  and  refined^. 

No  abstract  thinker  in  these  islands  has  produced  works  so 
well  fitted  at  once  to  excite  metaphysical  reflection,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  cultivate  the  sentiment  of  artistic  beauty.  His 
philosophy  takes  the  form  of  a  work  of  art,  which  raises  wonder 
by  its  ingenuity,  if  it  sometimes  disappoints  us  by  its  want  of  mas- 
sive strength.  What  Cicero  says  of  Plato's  reasoning  in  favour  of 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  might  be  applied  with  more  truth  to 
Berkeley's  speculations  on  kindred  subjects — though  all  the  vulgar 
philosophers  in  the  world  were  to  unite  their  powers,  they  could 
not  comprehend  the  ingenuity  of  the  reasoning.  The  study  of 
his  writings,  and  the  contemplation  of  his  life,  is  in  itself  an 
education  of  taste  and  understanding.  But  it  must  be  allowed 
that  he  did  not  always  see  round  the  difficulties  which  he  pro- 

^  Preface  to  Monch  Berkeley.  the  Academies  of  France ;  a  design  in  which 

'*''  He  was  deeply  interested,  it  is  said,  in  a  Swift,  Bolingbroke,  and  others  were  united, 

scheme  for  promoting  the  English  language  but  which  came  to  nothing  at  the  death  of 

by  a  society  of  wits  and  men  of  genius.  Queen  Anne. 

established  for  that  purpose,  in  imitation  of 


L] 


Oxford.— TJu;  End. 


351 


fissed  to  rcmovei  and  that,  without  a  tincture  of  disingenuous- 
ACss,  he  sometimes  evades  tlie  question.  The  beauty  of  the 
iCDace{>tion  is  unapproached  by  Locke,  ut  we  miss  Locke's  solid 
force,  or  Butler's;  and  one  sometimes  feels  in  Berkeley's  company 
ps  if  playing  with  speculation.  In  the  fresh  and  singular  trans- 
mrency  of  his  thought,  there  is  some  want  of  the  feeling  of  the 
■ublime  and  awful  mystery  of  the  universe,  and  a  defect  too  of 
Hie  large  grasp  of  reason  which  comprehends  the  involved  diffi- 
culties of  a  great  intellectual  whole — for  Berkeley  was  acute,  and 
iObtle,  and  uncommon,  rather  than  endowed  with  masterly  com- 
prehension. Especially  in  his  earlier  works,  one  sometimes  wishes 
ifljat  his  unborrowed,  evidently  self-elaborated  thought,  had  been 
liatanccd  by  deeper  consideration  of  the  thoughts  of  others,  while 
fcc  might  still  exemplify  liis  own  words,  in  his  first  published 
nrriting — '  Neminem  transcripsi;  nuliius  scrinia  expilavi.' 

A  retrospect  of  his  life  discovers  in  it  something  else  than  dreamy 
^dcalism.  A  practical  vein,  which  reminds  one  occasionally  of 
Arnold  or  even  of  Paley,  runs  distinctly  through  his  speculations 
jud  his  actions :  he  had  this  in  common  with  the  theological 
fnoralists,  and  indeed  the  general  tone,  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived. 
It  is  seen  in  his  treatment  of  the  disinterestedness  of  virtue,  and 
(■of  the  sanctions  of  supernatural  reward  and  pimishment.  His 
Icrident  inclination  was  to  bring  everything — theolt^ies  and  social 
institutions  included— to  the  test  of  utility  and  matter-of-fact  j 
though  this  tendency  was,  I  think,  less  in  his  later  years,  for 
Instance  in  the  metaphysical  parts  of  SW'n, 

Prolonged  study  of  the  attempted  performances  and  actual  per- 
Ibrmance  of  the  life  increases  our  sense  of  the  goodness  and  purity 
uf  its  intention^-cven  more  than  our  reverence  for  its  intellectual 
lower  or  sagacity.  'Non  sibi,  sed  toti,'  might  truly  have  been 
ts  motto.  This  was  no  Stoical  life,  but  subject  to  the  chivalrous 
impulses  of  an  ardent  human  heart — generous  almost  to  knight- 
prantry.  The  steadiness  and  intensity  of  its  social  sympathies 
ircre  expressed  in  its  three  great  and  holy  enthusiasms — the 
American  enthusiasm  of  middle  life — the  Tar-water  enthusiasm 
of  old  age — and  the  enthusiastic  spiritual  conception  of  the 
"Universe  which  runs  through  all. 

His  spirit  is  seen  in  his  religion.  This  governed  his  daily 
actions,  in  an  unwearied  performance  of  duty,  rather  than  ex- 


352  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

pressed  itself  obtrusively  in  words,  for  he  seldom  made  it  directly 
the  subject  of  talk.  Few  have  so  exemplified  the  gentle  self-sacrifice 
of  the  Life  unfolded  in  the  Gospels.  The  mild,  pious,  candid, 
and  ingenious  Berkeley,  lived  and  died  in  charity  with  God  and 
men — like  Locke  his  great  predecessor,  in  communion  of  heart 
with  the  Universal  Church,  by  whatever  name  it  was  distinguished. 
He  was  unperverted  by  controversial  theology,  and  dead  to 
ecclesiastical  ambition.  While  his  taste  and  sensibility  approved 
of  the  grave  and  beautiful  ritual  of  Anglican  worship,  and  its 
freedom  from  fanaticism,  his  large  heart  kept  loyal  to  the  Church 
Catholic ;  and  he  seemed  always  glad  to  escape  from  the  disputes 
of  metaphysical  theology,  to  the  practical  religion  of  Charity. 


After  Berkeley's  departure  we  have  some  glimpses  of  the  family. 
A  long  period  of  recluse  life  lefl  few  remaining  friends  to  sympa- 
thise with  the  little  circle  so  suddenly  bereaved.  The  splendid 
society  of  long-past  years  in  England,  in  which  Berkeley  used 
to  move,  had  passed  away.  Of  the  few  bishops  and  other  ecde^ 
siastical  dignitaries  with  whom  he  corresponded  in  his  later  years, 
Seeker  was  almost  the  only  survivor.  His  wise  friendship  was 
now  at  the  service  of  the  widow,  and  her  son  and  daughter. 
Among  other  letters  of  sympathy  which  I  find  among  the  Berkeley 
Papers,  there  is  the  following,  which  was  addressed  to  the  widow 
by  Seeker,  from  whom,  and  from  the  Church,  Butler,  Benson, 
and  Berkeley  had  all  been  taken  away  within  six  months *^8: — 

SL  PauVs  Deanery f  Jan,  i6,  1753. 
Madam, 

I  AM  beyond  expression  surprised  and  grieved  at  the  sad  news  which 
I  received  from  Oxford  last  night.  May  God  who  hath  taken  to  Himself, 
in  wisdom  and  mercy,  no  doubt,  that  excellently  great  and  very  good 
man,  comfort  you  and  yours,  under  this  most  sudden  and  heavy  affliction, 
in  which  I  and  my  family  bear  a  large,  though  we  are  sensible,  a  very 
unequal  share  with  you. 

But  even  we  have  lost  in  him  our  oldest  surviving  friend.  Within  a 
few  months  there  *  *  *  *  had  been  still  longer  and  more  intimately 

^  Seeker  himself  was  a  few  years  after  this  translated  from  Oxford  to  Lambeth,  whrre 
he  died  in  1768. 


x-l 


The  Family  Dissolution. 


353 


'  Help,  Lord,  for  the  godly  man  ceaselh ;  for  ihe  faithful  fail 
among  the  children  of  men.* 

We  heartily  wish  that  we  were  nearer  you,  to  give  you  such  poor 
consolation  as  we  could.  But  you  have  the  truest  support  within 
yourselves,  [he  knowledge  and  the  imitation  of  his  piety:  and  God 
grant  you,  in  this  severest  of  trials,  to  experience  ihe  full  [strength]  of 
If  we  can  possibly  be  of  service  to  you  at  this  distance,  if  a  retreat 
U  Cuddesden  would  be  a  relief,  if  a  supply  of  m[oney]  on  this  most  sad 
emergency  would  be  a  convenience,  if  in  anything  small  [or  great],  we 
can  give  a  proof  of  that  s)-mpathy  which  we  feet  in  the  highest  degree 
But  at  least  let  us  hear  some  way,  as  soon  as  you  are  able, 
from  yourselves,  how  you  are.  In  the  meanwhile  we  will  hope  it  is  as 
well  as  your  melancholy  situation  will  permit. 

I  am,  dear  Madam, 
Your  most  faithful,  humble  servant, 

THOS.  OXFORD. 
Since  I  wrote  this  I  have  received  good  Mr.  Berkeley's  letter.     God 
be  itianked,  who  hath  enabled  him  to  think  so  immediately,  in  so  reason- 
able and  religious  a  manner.     Our  most  fervent  prayers  are  offered  up 
for  you,  and  him,  and  dear  Miss  Berkeley. 

The  next,  apparently  in  answer  to  a  letter  which  has  been 
lost,  is  from  young  Berkeley  to  Sccker^^: — 

»  Among  the  lelten  of  cond  ,lnici  pic       ind  every  diy  befoie  oui  eyei,  thjl  wc  ihould 
t»r»ed  ill  ihe  colleclioii  of  Ba-Miy  Foptn. 
the  ruUowing.  addteiied  to  the  »n  Oeoige 
bj  Laid  Moniiaglon*,  the  gisndfalhei  of  Ax 
[hike  of  Wdtiiiglon,  hu  i  ceili 


titioui 


well  IcDo*  by  whit  E 


the  mdincholy  tubject  of  it  ii  ttw  afTecting, 
The  loki  of  (O  great  ind  good  a  miu  ii  Ihe 
Ute  Biiliop  of  Cloyne  muM  be  leiiilbly  fell 
by  the  pubtic  (to  whoni  hit  learned  labouri 
bid  been  oftuch  geoeial  uie),  ai  well  ii  by 
hi)  ptiticuUr  fiicndi.  of  whom  1  had  the 
honour  vid  great  pleanite  of  being  one.  will 


e  for  I 


with  pMicnec,  which  1  hope  and 
but  you  and  Ihc  good  Udy  yoi 
will  eontidei  foi  yoot   —   -'— 


wilh  thii  life  in 
miifoitanei 


n  the 


to  make  my  belt  compl 
nee  to  tin  Berkeley,  >r 
with  great  tetpect. 


•  He  died  in  1758,  and  wai  luceeeded  b; 
hit  ion.  the  Kcoiid  Loid  Munxlngion.  lb 
celebiated  muticiaii  and  campoier. 
VOL,  IV. 


MORNINGTON. 


DnbliH.-Jon.  jg,  1753. 


354 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


My  dear  Lord, 

I  CANNOT  defer  acknowledging  the  honour  of  your  Lordship's  very  kind 

letter. 

Dr.  Johnson's  book^  I  have  not  seen,  but  shall  be  greatly  obliged  to 
you  for  a  copy  of  it,  as  I  suppose  it  is  not  rei»inted  in  England,  and  as 
my  dear  father  had  a  y^ry  high  esteem  for  the  author. 

Notwithstanding  the  kind  sympathy  of  your  Lordship  and  the  good 
ladies,  as  well  as  of  all  our  friends  here,  and  the  utmost  endeavours  of 
my  sister  and  myself  to  conceal  our  grief,  I  cannot  say  that  I  perceive 
my  poor  mother's  at  all  abated.  What  human  aid  can't  do,  I  trust  that 
Divine  will  do. 

My  sister  is  extremely  thankful  for  Miss  Talbot's  very  useful  and 
friendly  letter.  She  joyns  with  my  mother  and  mjrself  in  noost  grateful 
acknowledgments  to  your  Lordship  and  the  ladies,  and  I  beg  leave  to 
assure  you  that  I  am,  with  the  greatest  respect. 

My  dear  Lord, 
Your  most  dutiful  and  very  obliged  bumble  servant^ 

GEO.  BERKELEY. 
Oxford^  Feb,  i,  1753. 

In  Seeker's  manuscript  Memoirs  of  himself,  preserved  in  the 
library  at  Lambeth,  I  find  the  following: — ^^1753,  J"^^  8*  ^^ 
went  to  Cuddesden.  My  good  friend  Bishop  Berkeley  dying  at 
Oxford  in  January,  his  widow,  and  son,  and  daughter  spent  the 
summer  with  me.'    In  March  of  the  following  year.  Seeker  writes 


following  letter  from  Syoge,  Bishop  of  £1- 
phin,  who  died  in  January,  1762  : — 
Sir, 
Your  melancholy  news  flew  hither.  We 
had  it  on  Sunday.  It  affected  me  greatly. 
But  the  first  surprise  being  over,  yours  re- 
ceived yesterday  gave  me  real  and  great 
f^asure.  It  will  always  give  me  pleasure  to 
be  considered  as  your  good  father's  friend. 
I  have  been  so  these  forty-three  years,  with 
exquisite  pleasure  and  great  advantage  to 
myself  while  we  were  together,  but  with 
much  regret  and  uneasiness  since  the  distance 
of  our  situations  and  his  constant  residence, 
interrupted  all  intercourse,  except  now  and 
then  by  letter.  At  last  the  final  separation 
is  made — I  hope  it  will  have  the  effect  on 
me  which  it  ought  to  have.  The  death  of 
80  old,  so  loved,  and  so  esteemed  a  friend 
should  admonish  me  of  mine  own.  I  am, 
indeed,  some  years  younger.     But  probably 


I  shall  soon  follow  him.  Oh  that  I  cottld 
in  his  life  1  Even  sudden  death  would  then 
lose  its  terrors  in  prospect. 

I  desire  yon  would  present  my  best  re- 
spects to  your  good  mother.  If  I  can  be  in 
any  way  useful  to  her  or  you,  I  shall  be 
always  ready  to  receive  her  commands.  Bat, 
in  your  piesent  situation,  your  father's  oU 
friends  have  no  room  except  for  wishes. 
The  best  I  can  form  for  you  is,  dut  yoo 
may  inherit  the  perfections  of  your  excelleot 
father,  and  emulate  his  virtues.  I  am,  with 
the  greatest  truth, 
Sir, 

Your  very  afifectionate  friend 
and  humble  servant, 

EDW.  ELPHIN. 
Dublin^  Jan,  a6,  1753. 

^  The  Eletmnta  Pbaosopbka. 


ix-O 


The  Family  Dissohition. 


355 


as  follows  from  the  Deanery  of  St.  Paul's  to  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  in 
America,  to  thank  him  for  his  book  : — '  I  am  particularly  obliged 
to  you  for  sending  me  your  book,  of  which  I  made  a  very  accept- 
able present  to  the  late  excelient  Bishop  of  Cloyae's  son — a  most 
serious,  sensible,  and  prudent  young  man,  whom  his  father  placed 
at  Christ  Church,  and  who,  with  his  mother  and  sister,  spent  the 
last  summer  with  me  in  Oxtbrdshire.  I  have  now  lately  received 
from  Mr,  Smith  another  copy  of  it,  printed  here*',  and  have  read 
several  prts  of  it,  and  all  with  much  pleasure.  You  have  taken 
very  proper  care  to  keep  those  who  do  not  enter  into  all  the  philo- 
sophy of  the  great  and  good  man  from  being  shocked  at  it^'^.' 

Two  years  after  this  we  find  the  family  scattered'^.  On  the  25th 
of  May,  1 756,  George  Berkeley  writes  thus  from  Christ  Church  to 
Dr.  Johnson  : — '  My  mother  has  been  settled,  with  my  brother  and 
sister,  for  a  year  and  a  half  past,  in  Dublin,  where  I  paid  them  a 
visit  about  three  months  last  summer,  and  intend,  God  willing,  to 
spend  half  a  year  with  them  as  soon  as  I  have  kept  next  term.  My 
poor  sister  has  been  for  above  a  year  in  a  very  bad  state  of  health, 
and  subject  to  violent  fits,  which  have  reduced  her  much,  and  made 
my  mother's  life  very  unpleasant — that  is,  as  unpleasant  as  circum- 
stances can  render  the  life  of  a  sincere  Christian,  which  I  bless 
God  she  is^.* 


An  outline  of  the  family  history  after  this,  till  its  final  dissolu- 
tion, can  be  summed  up  in  a  few  words. 


"  Thii  nil  the  Loudon  edition  orjohnion'i 
EittiHtla  Pbilotopbica,  edited  by  William 
SmiUi,  wliicb  ippFired  in  1 754. 

"  See  Chsiidler'i  Life  I^Jalmtiui—\fpta- 
iix.  til  (Hie  of  Seclur'i  MS.  Coounonplice 
Bookt  lie  tome  abieivationt  on  Berkdcr'i 
muuwr  of  cunceiTJng  leiuible  ihingi,  and 
iti  tuptiloriiy  ID  ihe  uneilendcd  moiiidi 
baa  which  Lcibnin  reiolvu  the  matenil 

nDtion  of  God  Qiiy  h»»e  been  partly  mit- 
•nderdood.  mi  be  ciptble  of  a  better  in- 


Biibop  of  Cloyne,  and  by  the  piMFOl  Bithap 
of  Cloj'nc,  ligtied  by  the  Biihopa  of  Mealh 
■iid  Elphin.'  Their  cxcellciiciM  ue  deuied 
to  ceter  the  petition  *  ind  The  innexed  ciK ' 
lo  the  CoDuDicuoneii  of  Hb  Majctly'i  Rc- 

thii  (uilhet.  but  il  lathei  ioaicatct  mnty 


ill.  Gihr 


The 


tolhei '    itfcitcd 
The   exliaci 


.  !r  (in  the  lecoidi  at  Dub- 
Ba  Culle)  dated,  Whitehall,  Sept.  6,  1754. 
■ddinied  by  Ihe  Duke  of  Doftel  to  the  Loidi 


part  of  1  tatge  coiresponde: 
Georp  Berkeley  and  Johniou.  which  wat 
ended  by  Johiiton*!  own  ludden  death  in 
Jaiioiry  177J,    Some  of  ihif  cone'ponL'euce, 


I 
I 


e  of  Johnio 


I  conetpandencc 


!    Bithop  than  hat   been  gwcu   in 


356  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

The  eldest  son,  Henry,  who  seems  to  have  been  in  weak 
health,  but  of  whose  later  history  I  can  find  nothing,  died  in 
Ireland,  in  Queen's  County  **.  The  second  son,  George,  took  his 
Master's  degree  at  Oxford  in  January,  1759,  ^^^  ^^  ^^  same  year, 
by  Seeker's  influence,  he  was  presented  to  the  celebrated  vicarage 
of  Bray,  in  Berkshire. 

The  Bishop's  widow,  of  whom  one  has  so  many  good  and 
pleasant  associations  with  the  recluse  life  in  Rhode  Island  and  at 
Cloyne,  lived  at  Bray  with  her  son  for  some  years  before  and  after 
his  marriage,  which  took  place  in  March  1761.  The  eccentric 
jealousy  of  the  wife  at  last  separated  her  from  her  son.  She  died 
at  Langley  in  Kent  on  the  27th  of  May,  1786,  in  her  eighty- 
sixth  year^.  The  daughter  Julia,  who  lived  with  her  mother, 
probably  survived  her,  but  I  have  found  no  record  of  her  death. 
She  was  not  married. 

The  Berkeleys  at  Bray  had  four  children,  two  daughters  who 
died  in  infancy,  a  son,  George  Monck,  and  another  son,  George 
Robert,  who  died  in  childhood,  in  1775".  George  Monck,  the 
eldest  son,  born  in  1763,  was  educated  at  Eton,  and  afterwards  in 
Scotland,  at  the  university  of  St.  Andrew's,  where  he  entered  in 
1782.  From  the  Preface  to  the  posthumous  quarto  volume  which 
contains  some  of  his  poetical  fragments  gleanings  have  aheady 
been  offered  to  the  reader.  His  Uterary  ReiicSy  as  I  formerly  ex- 
plained, supply  the  best  edition  of  his  illustrious  grandfather's 
correspondence  with  Thomas  Prior.  George  Monck  Berkeley  died 
in  January  1793. 


Archdeacon  Rose,  to  whom  future  students  of  Berkeley  owe  so 
much,  has  kindly  contributed  some  additional  particulars  in  the 
following  Brief  Memoir  of  George  Berkeley,  the  Bishop's  second 
and  last  surviving  son. 

<  It  will  be  remembered  that  Bishop  Berkeley,  not  long  before  his 
death,  went  to  reside  in  Oxford.  One  of  the  inducements  to  this 
change  of  residence  was  a  desire  to  superintend  the  education  of 


96 


Brady  s  Records,  vol.  III.  p.  119.  "  One  of  Monck  Berkeley's  Poems  is  an 

See  Europ.  Mag.  vol  IX.  p.  4'jo.   Some      Elegy  on  the   death   of  this   brother  (pp- 
of  her  letters  are  among  the  Berkeley  Papers.       165 — 78). 


IX.] 


The  Family  Dissolution. 


357 


his  son  George,  who  was  bom  in  London  in  September  1733,  and 
was  trained  by  his  father  at  Cloyne  till  he  was  ready  for  the  Uni- 
versity. He  was  admitted  at  Christ  Church  in  1752,  where  Bishop 
Conybearc,  who  was  then  Dean  of  Christ  Church,  conferred  a 
Studentship  upon  him.  The  education  of  his  children  had  been 
with  the  Bishop  so  sacred  a  duty,  that  he  devoted  himself  to  it 
with  the  utmost  ardour,  and  having  educated  his  son  until  he  was 
of  age  to  enter  the  University,  he  was  desirous  of  continuing 
such  superintendence  over  his  studies,  as  the  regulations  of  the 
University  would  permit.  It  happens  that  among  the  Berkeley 
Papers  there  is  a  long  letter  from  the  widow  of  the  Bishop  to 
her  son,  in  which  she  recounts  the  great  pains  bestowed  by  the 
Bishop  on  this  labour  of  love  during  the  childhood  and  early 
youth  of  his  son.  The  following  passages  are  quoted  from  this 
address : — 

'  "  I  sit  down  with  the  greatest  pleasure  to  talk  h  caur  oaverk  with  my 
son  upon  every  subject  which  shall  present  ilself.  The  slight  reflection 
you  made  on  your  dear  father  and  my  dear  husband  carried  me  back 
many  years,  and  in  all  those  years  I  saw  infinite  cause  of  gratitude  from 
you  and  me  to  God  for  all  his  favors,  and  for  all  his  crosses,  which  are 
disguised  favors.  How  carefiiUy  was  your  infancy  protected  by  your 
dear  Father's  skill  and  Mother's  care.  You  were  not  for  our  ease  trusted 
10  mercenary  hands :  in  childhood  you  were  instructed  by  your  father— he, 
though  old  and  sickly,  performed  the  constant,  tedious  task  himself,  and 
would  not  trust  it  to  another's  care.  You  were  his  business  and  his 
pleasure.  Short-sighted  people  see  no  danger  from  common  vulgar  errors 
of  education.  He  knew  that  fundamental  errors  were  never  cured,  and 
that  the  first  seasoning  of  the  cask  gives  the  flavor,  and  therefore  he 
chose  rather  to  prevent  than  cure.  As  much  as  possible  he  kept  you 
with  himself  or  else  alone.  He  never  raised  your  vanity,  or  your  love  for 
vanity,  by  prizing  or  mentioning  the  vanities  of  life  (unless  with  the  derision 
ihey  deserve) — which  we  have  all  renounced  in  baptism,  before  you— such 
are  THUs — Firury — Fashion — Money — Fame.  His  own  temperance  in 
regard  to  wine  was  a  better  lesson  to  you  than  forbidding  it  would  have 
been.  He  made  home  pleasant  by  a  variety  of  employments,  conversa- 
tion, and  company ;  his  instructive  conversation  was  delicate,  and  when 
he  spoke  directly  of  religion  (which  was  seldom)  he  did  it  in  so  masterly 
a  manner,  thai  it  made  a  deep  and  lasting  impression.  You  never 
heard  him  give  his  tongue  the  liberty  of  speaking  evil.     Never  did  he 


I 


358  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

reveal  the  fault  or  secret  of  a  friend.  Most  people  are  tempted  to 
detraction  by  envy,  barrenness  of  conversation,  spite  and  ill  wilL  But  as 
he  saw  no  one  his  superior,  or  perhaps  his  equal,  how  could  he  envy  any 
one  ?  Fesides,  an  universal  knowledge  of  mm^  things j  and  boehy  pre- 
vented the  greatest  wit  of  his  age  from  being  at  a  loss  for.  subjects  of 
conversation ;  but  had  he  been  as  dull  as  he  was  bright,  his  conscience 
and  good  nature  would  have  kept  close  the  door  of  his  lips,  rather  than 
to  have  opened  them  to  vilify  or  lessen  his  brother.  He  was  also  pure 
in  heart  and  speech ;  no  wit  could  season  any  kind  of  dirt  to  him,  not 
even  Swift's.  Now  he  was  not  bom  to  all  this,  no  more  than  others  are, 
but  in  his  own  words  his  industiy  was  greater ;  he  struck  a  light  at  twebH 
to  rise  and  study  and  pray,  for  he  was  very  pious ;  and  his  studies  were 
no  barren  speculations,  for  he  loved  God  and  man,  silenced  and  confuted 
Atheists,  disguised  as  mathematicians  and  fine  gentlemen.  ...  His 
scheme  for  our  Colonies  and  the  World  in  general  is  not  forgot  before 
His  eyes  for  whom  it  was  undertaken.  No  man  of  the  age  was  capable 
of  projecting  and  bringing  into  execution  such  a  design  but  himself— 
that  it  failed  was  not  his  fault.  .  .  .  Humility,  tenderness,  patience, 
generosity,  charity  to  men's  souls  and  bodies,  was  the  sole  end  of  all  his 
projects,  and  the  business  of  his  life.  In  particular  I  never  saw  so  tender 
and  so  amiable  a  father,  or  so  patient  and  industrious  a  one  1     Why  were 

not  you  and  Willy  rotten  before  you  were  ripe,  like  Lord 's  sons? 

Because  you  had  so  wise,  so  good  a  father.     It  is  true  he  took  no  care 

to  purchase  land  for  you;  but  where  are  Lord  's  sons  now,  and 

what  enjoyment  have  they  of  their  g^eat  estates?  .  .  .  Exactness  and 
care  (in  which  consists  economy)  was  the  treasury  upon  which  he  drew 
for  charity,  generosity,  munificence ;  and  exactness  and  care,  regularity 
and  order,  prevented  his  ever  having  the  temptation  to  be  covetous,  and 
surely  it  should  be  guarded  against  with  strict  care  since  *  covetousness 
is  idolatry.'  Most  people  think  with  the  wise,  but  act  with  the  vulgar. 
Your  father  slighted  the  Que  dira-t-an?    &c.,  &c." 

'Such  was  the  education  which  George  Berkeley  received  at 
Cloyne — and  if  this  be  a  faithful  picture  of  his  father's  care  of 
his  childhood  and  youth,  we  cannot  wonder  that  when  he  was 
launched  into  the  greater  world  of  Oxford,  that  tender  father  was 
anxious  to  watch  over  his  son  during  his  University  career. 

'After  Mr.  Berkeley  had  taken  his  degree  of  Master  of  Arts 
on  the  26th  of  January,  1759,  he  was  presented  to  the  Vicarage 
of  East  Garston,  which  is  in  the  gift  of  the  Society — and  soon 


toj 


The  Family  DissohitioJt. 


359 


'  afterwards  to  the  Vicarage  of  Bray.  Mr.  Berkeley,  as  a  young 
man,  formed  an  attachment  to  Miss  Talbot,  afterwards  so  well- 
known  as  the  authoress  of  the  admirable  reflections  on  the  Seven 
'Days  of  the  Week,  often  published  by  the  Society  for  Promoting 
[Christian  Knowledge.  Although  this  attachment  appears  to  have 
.been  reciprocal,  some  obstacles  intervening,  the  engagement,  if 
ttierc  was  any  positive  engagement,  was  given  up  by  mutual 
consent.  Mr.  Berkeley  afterwards,  in  the  year  1761,  married 
Miss  Eliza  Frinsham^",  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Henry  Frinsham. 
rRcctor  of  White- Waltham,  in  Berkshire.  From  the  period  of 
ttiis  marriage,  it  ought  to  be  mentioned  that  Miss  Talbot  never 
•ceased  to  show  the  utmost  kindness  and  friendship  to  Mrs.  George 
Berkeley,  who  speaks  of  her  as  the  kindest  of  all  her  friends''. 
^iss  Frtnsham  appears  to  have  been  possessed  of  great  personal 
charms  and  considerable  abilities,  but  she  was  evidently  very 
excitable.  Eventually  her  eccentricity  exceeded  all  bounds,  and 
her  writings  exhibit  traces  of  partial  derangement.  This  cir- 
tumstance  contributed  very  much  to  cloud  the  happiness  of  her 
borne.  A  large  mass  of  letters  relate  to  the  unhappy  differences 
which  arose  from  this  cause;  but  as  it  can  be  of  no  possible 
Interest  to  the  world  at  large,  this  notice  of  the  matter  will 
Suffice.  It  seems  needful  thus  slightly  to  mention  it,  because 
It  will  serve  to  explain  the  strange  statements  which  we  occa- 
lionally  meet  with  in  her  publications.  She  published  in  1799 
k  volume  of  posthumous  sermons,  preached  by  her  husband,  with 
k  most  extraordinary  preface;  and  also,  two  years  earlier,  some 
pDcms  of  her  son,  to  which  she  prefixed  a  Preface  of  nearly  700 
quarto  pages !  No  one  who  reads  it  can  doubt  the  partial  de- 
fangement  of  mind  of  the  writer'". 


■  Thit  \tAf  wit  docCTded  from  Francii 
fctny,  Eb|..  of  Shoncsbrooke,  in  Ktnl.  In 
^39  hii  diDEblR  HDl  1  picture  of  him.  and 
nluUe  coRcciioa  of  MSS.  to  tbc  Univct- 
t;  of  Olfofd,  whicb  bcnefictioiii  arc  ac- 
Bowledgej  in  a  leltci  fram  Siun.  Pirker  on 
dulf  of  Ibc  Vkc-ChanccllDi,  now  in  the 
akd(7  Collection,  u  well  i>  the  Vice- 
bancdlor'i  lenet. 

"  Miu  Calherine  Talbot  wii  the  grand- 
■ighlei  of  Df.  Talbot.  P"^ '  ^  -'-  — 


nd  daughier 


Jncii  b)i  adopting  the  widon 
f  the  Biihop's 


of  Duihi 


t  family  for  hii  prefeni 


Thef  liied  with 
him  to  Ihe  lime  of  hi>  death.  Mri.  G. 
Bdlidey,  in  the  Preface  to  her  Kin'i  Poemi, 
■pcaki  of  her  '  angelic  friend.'  Mill  Catherine 
Talbot.  MiuTalbot  died  in  1770.  Thete 
li  a  charming  letter  from  Miu  Talbol  to 
a  new-born  child,  a  daughter  of  Mr.  John 
Talbol  (ion  of  Lord-ChaneeUo[  Talbot),  in 
the  StUerioni  from  lit  Gnllftium'i  Maga- 
s,W.  ,oUlI.  p.  .s. 

**  Thii  volume  iiTery  rare.    It  ii,  a>  far 
It  1  cm  atcerlain,  not  to  be  found  either  in 


360  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

« It  is  well  known  that  Miss  Talbot  and  her  mother  were  inmates 
of  Lambeth  Palace,  during  the  Primacy  of  Archbishop  Seeker,  who 
was  much  attached  to  Bishop  Berkeley,  and  remained  always  a 
very  kind  friend  to  his  son,  who  held  successively  several  benefices, 
besides  a  Prebendal  Stall  in  Canterbury.  He  was  Vicar  of  Bray, 
which  he  exchanged  for  Cookham,  and  Rector  of  St,  Clement 
Danes,  East  Acton  in  Middlesex,  and  of  Ticehurst  in  Sussex. 
He  was  also  Chancellor  of  Brecknock,  but  in  the  later  years  of 
his  life  he  appears  to  have  been  very  far  from  rich.  In  February 
1768,  he  took  the  degree  of  LL.D. 

^  Dr.  Berkeley  was  evidently  much  beloved  by  a  large  circle  of 
friends,  many  of  whom  were  persons  of  considerable  distinction. 
Dr.  Home,  the  President  of  Magdalen,  and  Dean  of  Canterbury, 
who  in  1790  became  Bishop  of  Norwich,  was  through  life  one 
of  his  most  attached  friends,  as  the  numerous  letters  from  that 
truly  Christian  Prelate,  found  among  the  Berkeley  Papers,  abun- 
dantly testify.  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  in  America,  Dr.  Glasse,  Dr. 
Whitaker,  Bishop  Gleig,  and  others  also  among  his  friends,  were 
well  known  as  men  of  high  attainments.  Dr.  Berkeley  having 
passed  some  time  at  St.  Andrew's  and  elsewhere  in  Scotland,  took 
a  deep  interest  in  the  Scottish  Episcopal  Church,  and  was  in 
some  degree  instrumental  in  obtaining  the  removal  of  the  restric- 
tions under  which  it  laboured  at  that  time.  He  had  a  long 
correspondence  with  Bishop  Gleig  on  the  subject,  a  large  portion 
of  which  is  still  in  the  Berkeley  Collection.  Bishop  Home  also 
was  much  interested  in  the  movement  for  the  removal  of  the 
cruel  restrictions,  which  were  continued  so  long  after  the  ne- 
cessity for  them,  if  it  ever  existed,  had  altogether  ceased.  It 
appears  also  that  it  was  very  much  through  the  influence  of 
Dr.  Berkeley  that  the  Scottish  Bishops  were  induced  to  conse- 
crate Dr.  Seabury.  The  importance  of  that  event  to  the  Churches 
of  England  and  America  it  would  be  difficult  adequately  to  ex- 
press. Dr.  Berkeley  was  evidently  a  man  of  considerable  powers 
of  mind,  and  of  so  amiable  a  disposition  that  he  appears  to  have 
been  universally  popular. 

'There  is  little  to  narrate  connected  with  his  life.  The 
Memoir  of  his  son,   George   Monck   Berkeley,   by   the   mother 

the  Bodleian  or  the  Cambridge  University       belonging  to  the  Chapter  Library  at  Can- 
Library.     I  am  indebted  to  the  kindness  of      terbury. 
Canon   Robertson   for  the  use  of  a   copy, 


t] 


The  Family  Dissolution. 


361 


the  young  man,  contains  many  anecdotes  about  the  father, 
lowing  his  excellent  qualities  and  his  religious  character.  But 
is  little  to  record.  Had  he  become  illustrious  by  his 
iblished  works,  like  Bishop  Berkeley,  the  smallest  fragment  of 
writings  would  have  been  worth  publishing,  because  it  would 
liustrate  the  habits  of  thought  which  contributed  to 
lat  eminence.  But  his  letters,  though  invested  with  a  certain 
,liic  from  their  liveliness  and  their  good  sense,  do  not  contain 
it  matter  of  public  interest  to  justify  their  publication. 
ire,  however,  some  letters  from  Bishop  Home  addressed 
which  deserve  to  be  rescued  from  oblivion.  It  may 
mentioned  that  a  sermon  by  Dr.  Berkeley,  preached  on  Jan. 
785,  on  Tht  danger  of  Violent  Innovations  in  the  State^  kow 
feciouf  soever  lie  pretence^  txtmplifed  from  the  reigns  of  the  l-ujo 
htt  Stuarts,  went  through  six  editions.  The  intimacy  of  Dr.  Ber- 
Kley  with  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  with  the  ladies  who 
irsided  with  his  Grace  at  Lambeth,  enabled  him  to  put  forward 
ftie  claims  of  some  deserving  clergymen  for  preferment.  Among 
Ihese  was  the  celebrated  William  Jones,  of  Nayland,  who  obtained 
Pluckley  through  his  interest.  A  letter  to  Dr.  Berkeley  from 
E>r.  Jemmett  Brown,  Bishop  of  Cork  and  Ross,  in  March  1768, 
i^ins  pleasantly  enough — "  Dear  Doctor,  1  wish,  sincerely,  I  could 
inbstitute  Lord  for  your  new  title,"  &c. 

Dr.  George  Berkeley  died  on  the  6th  of  January,  1 795,  two 
fears  after  his  son  Monck,  leaving  his  widow  apparently  in 
Itrattened  circumstances.' 


This  son,  Geoi^e,  was  the  last  of  that  branch  of  the  Berkeley 
bmily  in  which  the  philanthropist  and  the  philosophical  world 
hrc  most  interested,  and  which  we  have  now  followed  from 
its  beginnings  on  the  bank  of  the  Nore  till  it  disappears  from 
*  shadowy  scene.'  The  philosophy  of  Berkeley  survives  the 
lily  dissolution,  as  its  permanent  heritage  to  the  world.  To 
that  philosophy  I  must  now  ask  the  reader  to  return,  in  order  to 
contemplate  as  a  whole,  and  in  some  lights  in  which  it  has  not, 
I  think,  been  sufficiently  considered,  what  in  the  foregoing  chap- 
ters has  appeared  only  at  intervals  and  in  fragments. 


CHAPTER    X. 


THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF    BERKELEY. 


A. 
Berkeley's  New  ^Ijiestion^  and  the  Essence  of  his  Answer  to  it. 

There  is  a  discernible  unity  in  the  life  of  Berkeley.  It  may  be 
traced  in  the  chapters  of  his  personal  history,  in  his  hitherto  un- 
published thoughts,  and  in  the  three  volumes  which  contain  those 
of  his  purely  philosophical,  mixed,  and  miscellaneous  writings 
which  appeared  when  he  was  alive.  The  function  of  the  material 
world  in  the  universe  of  existence — the  true  meaning  of  unpcr- 
ceiving  substance,  identity,  space,  and  force  or  power — employed 
his  intellect  and  imagination  from  the  beginning  to  the  end.  In- 
genious occupation  with  this  problem  is  what  gives  character  and 
strength  to  that  beautiful  and  singular  life.  The  immediate  re- 
sult was,  his  own  steadily  sustained  conception  of  what  the  reality 
of  sensible  things  means  ^  and  his  persistent,  but  strictly  conse- 
quent, endeavour  to  confine  the  material  world  to  the  subordinate 
ftinction^  in  relation  to  Spirit  or  Mind  which  is  implied  in  that 
conception.  The  remoter  result  has  been  that  he  inaugurated  a 
new  and  second  era  in  the  intellectual  revolution  which  Des  Cartes 
set  agoing.  This  Second  Period  in  Modern  Philosophy  has  been 
marked  by  the  sceptical  phenomenalism  of  Hume  (now  represented 
by  Positivism) ;  the  Scotch  psychology  of  Common  Sense ;  and  the 
German  critical  and  dialectical  philosophy  of  Reason. 

Berkeley's  belief  about  the  sensible  world  was  not  a  mere  in- 
tellectual whim :  we  see  this  when  we  follow  the  story  of  his  life. 
It  was  the  issue  of  deep  human  interest  and  sympathy.     Men  had 


Philosophy  of  Berkeley.  363  | 

suffered,  and  were  suffering,  he  believed,  from  wrong  ways  of 
conceiving  the  manner  in  which  the  material  world  exists,  and 
the  powers  which  may  reasonably  be  attributed  by  physical  science 
to  sensible  things.  He  suspected  that  their  manner  of  thinking 
about  Matter  was  making  them  sceptical  about  everything;  or,  at 
any  rate,  that  it  was  leaving  them  satisfied  with  the  supposed 
powers  of  the  world  of  sense,  as  a  sufficient  explanation  of  them- 
selves and  of  all  that  is.  Materialists  were  making  unperceived 
Matter  supreme;  yet  philosophers  found  it  difficult  to  deduce  its 
existence  from  what  alone  they  allowed  us  to  be  able  to  perceive. 
Now,  by  substituting  in  people's  thoughts — in  room  of  an  inde- 
finitely powerful  Matter — the  subordinate  kind  of  material  world, 
which  he  found  given  in  sense  and  sanctioned  by  reason,  the 
difficulty  of  proving  its  real  existence  would,  he  thought,  be  at 
once  removed:  spiritual  life,  above  all,  would  have  room  to  grow 
in,  when  Matter  ceased  to  be  regarded  as  the  deepest  thing  in 
eitistcnce:  and  the  physical  sciences,  ttxj,  might  have  freedom  to 
enlarge  themselves,  without  hindrance  by  restored  faith,  when  it 
was  demonstrated  th.at  no  possible  pr<^ress  in  the  interpretation 
of  sensible  signs,  could  interfere  with  religion,  whose  roots  are  in 
the  heart  and  conscience  of  man. 

Matter  was  apt  to  make  philosophers  sceptical  about  reality  of 
every  sort,  because  they  had  assumed  it  to  be  something  the 
existence  of  which  it  was  impossible  to  prove,  and  the  nature  of 
which  it  was  impossible  even  to  conceive.  Yet  without  the 
acknowledged  existence  of  a  sensible  world  nothing  external  to  the 
individual  mind  could  be  assured.  Berkeley,  accordingly,  found 
Des  Cartes,  Malebranche,  Locke,  and  other  philosophers  of  the 
century  in  which  he  was  born,  tryirtg,  but  with  indifferent  success, 
to  verify  the  existence  of  Matter.  And  then  he  found  even  Locke 
suggesting  that  this  same  unperceived  Matter  may  be  the  cause  of 
consciousness.  Hobbcs,  indeed,  dc^maticaily  asserted  more  than 
this,  assuming,  in  his  explanation  of  intelligent  man,  that  the  body 
accounted  for  the  mind,  and  that  Matter  was  the  deepest  thing  in 
the  universe.  Spinoza  too  unfolded  the  divine  system  according 
to  a  geometrical,  which  seemed  to  be  a  materialistic,  imagination 
of  it;  and  although  the  hypothesis  which  resolves  the  material 
world  into  unextendcd  monads  might  place  Leibnitz 
category,  it  was  an  assumption  almost  as  open  to  objection 


e   maienai  i 

a  different    ^^H 
ion  as  that    ^^H 


364  Life  afid  Letters  of  Berkel^.  [ch. 

of  the  materialists,  that  a  plurality  of  inconceivable  forces  is  the 
constitutive  essence  of  extended  things.  Again,  a  mathematical 
or  spacial  conception  of  what  is  real — in  a  word,  atomism — was 
involving  men,  in  that  age  of  Newtonian  discoveries,  in  the  per- 
plexities of  infinitesimals  and  the  infinite,  which  all  result  from 
the  supposition  of  an  absolute  quantity  that  is  infinitely  divisible. 
Metaphysicians  were,  by  this  means,  able  to  raise  a  dust,  and  then 
complain  that  they  could  not  see.  And  the  unreflecting  multitude 
were  then  as  always  apt  to  look  for,  and  be  satisfied  with,  ex- 
planations of  things — including  animal  and  even  conscious  life — 
that  made  Matter  their  sufficient  cause. 

The  material  world  was  in  short,  in  many  ways,  disturbing  the 
balance  or  equilibrium  of  true  belief,  in  the  beginning  of  the 
eighteenth  century;  and  it  had  always  been  doing  so,  more  or 
less.  A  powerful  hand  was  required  to  put  it  back  into  its  proper 
place,  and  to  confine  it  to  its  assigned  function.  This,  his  appro- 
priated office,  was  employment  enough  for  Berkeley's  hand,  which 
was  subtle — whatever  may  be  said  about  its  strength. 

Berkeley  may  be  pictured  as  one  trying  in  vain  all  his  life  to 
get  a  hearing  for  a  New  Question  about  space  and  the  material 
world.  His  philosophical  contemporaries,  and  their  predecessors, 
had  been  busy  oflfering  evidence  that  unperceivable  Matter  really 
exists — in  answer  to  supposed  demands  for  such  evidence;  or  in 
referring  to  this  Universal  Substance  for  the  explanation  of  the 
perplexing  phenomena  of  conscious  life.  He  entreated  them  to 
address  themselves  to  another  task  altogether;  and  also  to  sus- 
pend the  assumption  that  the  unperceiving  world  could  explain 
everything,  till  they  had  made  sure  that  it  could  really  explain 
anything.  Instead  of  oflfering  doubtful  evidence  of  the  former, 
and  also  dogmatically  taking  the  dynamical  efficiency  of  Matter 
for  granted,  let  us  first  ask,  Berkeley  in  eflFect  says,  what  the 
words  existence^  reality ^  externality^  and  cause  mean,  when  they 
are  affirmed  of  sensible  objects  ^    Perhaps  we  shall  then  find  that 


*  Cf.  Principles  of  Human   Knowledge^  lation  as  to  what  the  concrete  world,  revealed 

sect.  89 :  also  passages  in  the  Commonplace  in  the  phenomena  presented  to  the  senses. 

Book.     This  is  metaphysics,  or  the  specu-  necessarily  is.     It  is  an  attempt  to  translate 

lation  of  Being.    Berkeley's  Principles  is  his  the  abstract  Being  of  the  old  ontologists  into 

juvenile  metaphysics — in  the  form  of  a  specu-  concrete  fact,  and  then  to  describe  the  fact 


xi 


Philosophy  of  Berkeley. 


365 


the  only  reality  these  can  have  is  a  reality  that  docs  not  need 
proof;  and  that  their  only  possible  externality  is  not  an  incon- 
ceivable— even  contradictory  —  externality,  but  one  easy  to  be 
conceived  and  -believed  in.  Instead  of  trying  to  show  that  Matter 
is  the  cause  of  this  or  of  that,  he  invites  us  to  inquire  what 
physical  causality  means,  and  in  what  respect,  or  to  what  extent, 
anything  unconscious  and  involuntary  can  be  the  cause  of  any- 
thing at  all.  Perhaps  if  we  do  so  we  shall  find  that  the  actual 
material  world  cannot  contain  any  power  or  causality ;  that  the 
so-called  relations  of  causation,  discovered  in  physical  science  to 
belong  to  sensible  things,  are  examples  of  another  sort  of  relation 
lUtcgcthcr,  and  not  of  efficient  or  proper  causation. 

Berkeley's  life-long  labour  as  a  philosopher  was,  m  short,  an 
endeavour  to  get  the  previous  question  put  in  place  of  the  pre- 
valeDt  question,  and  the  prevalent  assumption  about  Matter.  He 
wanted  to  induce  ihsn  to  settle  what  the  substantial  existence  of 
the  sensible  world  could  in  reason  amount  to — not  to  prwe  its 
substantiality,  which  (in  a  conventional  meaning  of  'substance') 
no  sane  person  could  doubt.  He  wanted  to  settle  the  meaning  of 
physical  power — not  to  prove  the  causality  of  visible  and  tangible 
things,  which  too  (in  a  conventional  meaning  of  *  cause'}  could 
as  little  be  doubted. 

His  historical  position  in  philosophy  is,  I  think,  not  intelligible 
to  those  who  overlook  the  fact  that  his  speculative  life  (whether  he 
was  fiilly  aware  of  this  himself  or  not)  was  an  endeavour  thus  to 
thtmgf  tbr  fuettion  about  the  unconscious  world  with  which  modern 
philosophy  had  busied  itself.  The  result  of  the  change  would  be, 
to  make  metaphysics  not  the  demonstrator  of  the  existence  of 
the  real  things  of  sense — which  do  not  need  to  be  demonstrated ;  nor 
tlic  expositor  of  their  so-called  eflfects^ — which  the  physical  sciences 
undertake  to  interpret ;  but  to  make  it  the  analyst  of  the  meaning 
of  reality,  and  the  meaning  of  causality,  when  reality  is  affirmed  of 
sensible  things  by  everybody,  and  causality  especially  by  men  of 
science.  Find  what  physical  causality  and  physical  substantiality 
can  reasonably  mean ;  answer  first  this  new  question :— this  is  his 
constant  prayer.  His  promise  is  that,  when  we  shall  have  done 
this,  we  shall  find  that  there  is  no  need  to  press  the  old  demand 
for  evidence  of  the  existence  of  such  a  substance  as  physical  sub- 
stance can  be  proved  to  be;  and  that  there  is  no  room  for  the  old 


I 
I 


366 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkel^. 


[CH, 


assumptions  about  the  powers  of  bodies  when  physical  science  is 
confined  by  iron  reasoning  to  the  merely  physical  sort  of  causality. 
Such  existence,  reality,  substantiality,  and  causality  as  the  actual 
world  of  the  senses  can  be  shown  to  be  capable  of  having,  thaty  he 
assumes,  beyond  all  possibility  of  scepticism,  the  unperceiving 
world  has :  but  that,  no  doubt,  turns  out  to  be  a  OKxiest^  restricted, 
dependent,  sort  of  reality;  and  as  for  the  causality,  it  turns  out 
to  be,  not  elSicient,  but  a  divinely  efiected  constancy  of  sensible 
order,  or  a  divinely  effected  growth  of  vital  organism. 

Berkeley,  in  short,  moved  modern  thought  by  changing  its 
question,  and  manner  of  thinking,  about  Matter — by  withdrawing 
philosophy  from  the  attempt  to  show  that  Matter  exists,  although 
it  is  unperceived  by  us  in  the  senses,  and  from  the  dermatic  as- 
sumption that  Matter  operates,  to  a  metaphysical  analysis  of  what 
unperceiving  or  unconscious  reality  and  causality  can  amount  to 
or  involve-. 

The  new  question  and  method  of  thought  of  Berkeley  was 
pushed  further  in  the  new  direction  by  Hume,  who  sought,  as 
it  were,  to  paralyse  and  humiliate  the  entire  Divine  Universe 
{rh  mp),  on  principles  partly  similar  to  those  applied  by  Berkeley 
to  paralyse  and  humiliate  the  solid  and  extended  universe.  Hume, 
as  it  happened,  was  moved  to  speculate  by  Berkeley,  traces  of 
whom  appear  all  through  his  metaphysical  writings.  But  in 
Berkeley's  method  Hume  read  scepticism :  he  says  that  most  of 
Berkeley's  writings  'form  the  best  lessons  of  scepticism  which 
are  to  be  found  either  among  the  ancient  or  modern  philosophers, 
Bayle  not  excepted,'  because  '  they  admit  of  no  answer  and  pro- 
duce no  conviction  '^.' 


*  Berkeley's  philosophy,  in  its  most  com- 
prehensive aspect — increasingly  in  its  later 
developments  in  Alciphrtm  and  Siiis — ^is  a 
philosophy  of  the  causation  that  is  in  the 
universe,  rather  than  a  philosophy  of  the 
mere  material  world.  It  is  the  reasoned  ex- 
pression of  an  assumed  intuition  of  the  effi- 
ciency of  Mind — of  which  the  very  essence 
is  conscious  acting — as  the  only  real  cause 
of  what  appears  in  dead  and  living  Nature. 

It  must  be  remembered  the  word  *  cause  * 
is  ambiguous.  Aristotle's  four  causes  agree 
in  being  four  sorts  of  conditions  of  change, 
viz.  a  previously  unformed  Matter :  a  Form 


or  Law  according  to  which  it  CTolves ;  the 
effident  Act  itself;  and  the  End  contemplated 
in  the  act.  The  three  last  are  inrolved  in 
Berkeley's  causation  proper.  His  'cause* 
unites  the  three  last,  and  dispenses  with  the 
first,  resolving  it  into  sensible  pheno- 
mena. As  to  the  first — Matter,  or  Material 
Cause — cf.  Siris^  sect.  311 — 18,  with  my 
notes,  and  the  references  to  Aristotle's  iiXift 
and  Plato's  ro  drclpor,  and  rd  trtpm^  is 
which  Berkeley's  doctrine  about  Matter  is 
compared  with  these  dark  negations. 

*  Hume's  Essetyt^  vol.  II.  Note  N.    Hume's 
reversal  of  Beiicelev's  intended  function  is 


X.] 


Philosophy  of  Berkeley. 


367 


The  antithesis  of  Hume  and  Berkeley  is  the  turning-point  of 
modem    thought.      They   are    at    opposite   poles   regarding  the 

cnrioDi.     The  Scolch  p«ychalugists  of  lut        lilliul    cxmceil   or   the   moil    cDntemplible 

century  who  foUowed    Mm — admirable    i 

•o  many   olbcr   refpccU.  never   got    fair! 

in  ught  of  Berkeley'!  New  Qnution.     Ac-        11  a   nun  proicHing  inii  ducinae  act  ukg 

eotdiagly,    ihej    can    hardly    be    Hid    to       oihei  men  in  the  canimon  aSHvn  of  life,  I 

accept  or  ta  lejed  hii  uiiwer.     Their  op-       will  not  belicre  hit  profniion  to  be  tloFere. 

poiitian  i>  bated  on  id  ignotaii'i  dncJn.  ■  "      ■■  ■  ......... 

Tike  the  followiug  iminlentioiial  caticalure 
of  Befkelejr'i  reiultt  by  Bcittie.  one  of  the 
■UMI  emineiil  of  them : — '  A  gieat  phUo- 
■optter  hut  actually  demonilrited.  we  are 
told— thai  Malter  doei  not  eiiil.  Truly 
Ib»  ii  a  piece  of  Mraiige  informitloii.  At 
tbii  rate  any  blichond  n      ' 


f  fiUe.  For  ii  ii 
impoHible  that  an)'  tmth  thould  be  more 
endenl  to  Die  thin  this— that  Matter  dim 
e«i»t.  ...  Till  the  frame  of  my  nilore  be 
oohinged.  and  a  new  let  of  faculties  given 
to  me,  I  cannot  believe  thii  nrange  doctrine, 
b«caDie  it  ii  perfectly  inaedible.  But  If  I 
Wcle  permitted  to  ptopoae  one  clowuiih 
qnalion.  t  would  fain  aik — Where  ii  the 
harm  of  my  continuing  in  my  old  o|Mmon, 
anil  believing,  vith  the  reit  of  the  world. 
that  I  am  not  the  only  crciied  being  in  the 
DBivnte,  bul  that  there  are  man^  otheri. 

■nine  it  on  Ihem?  Where  ii  the  harm  of 
my  bdieriug  that  if  I  were  to  fall  down 
jrander  precipice  aud  bteik  my  neck.  I 
ihonld  be  no  more  a  man  of  ihli  world? 
My  neck,  nr,  may  be  an  idea  to  yon.  bat 


100.  Where 
that  if,  In  thii  severe  weather.  I  were  to 
neglect  to  throw  (what  you  call)  the  iibd  of 
■  coat  over  the  idiia  of  my  shoulders,  the 
iAa  o(  cold  would  produce  the  jifio  of  such 
pain  and  diiorJer  11  might  posiibly  termiflate 
in  rtaJ  death  ?  What  great  offence  ihall  I 
commil  agaiiut  God  or  man,  church  or 
•tale,  philoiuphy  or  common  teoie.  if  I  con- 
tijiae  Is  believe  that  material  food  will 
iimifjih  me.  though  the  idea  of  it  will  not; 
thai  (be  real  sun  will  warm  and  enlighten 
mc  though  the  Uvelieit  idea  of  him  wDl  do 
aaither;  and  thai  if  I  would  obuin  true 
lelf-ipprobaiion,  t  must 


oiily  id 


t    of  CI 


and  geoetoiily.  but  alio  really  exert  ihcie 
flnuei  in  exleroal  peribrmance?  What 
harm  is  ihecr  'n  all  thii  ?  . .  .  I  uever  heard 
of  any  doclriiie  mure  tcaadaloutly  abiurd 
IhiB  this  of  the  nDii-cxiitence  of  Matter. 
ThcR  i>  mil  ■  fiction  In  the  Ftnian  Tola 
that    1   would    n<t    as    eiiilr   believe;    the 


has  no  eiidence,  and  believe  this  ilringe 
tenet  ai  steadily  at  I  heUeve  the  contrary, 
he  will  have,  I  am  afraid,  but  Kitle  realon  to 
applaud  himtelf  in  this  new  acquitilloa  in 
science.  If  he  fall  down  a  precipce.  01  be 
tran^iled  tmder  foot  by  hortet.  it  will  avail 
him  little  that  he  once  had  the  honour  to  be 
a  disciple  of  Berkeley,  and  to  believe  that 
thote  dangeioui  objects  ire  nothing  bul  idea* 

instant  deprived  of  their  undeitlanding  by 
Almigtily  Power,  and  made  10  believe  thai 
Malter  hai  no  existence  bul  as  an  idea  in 
themiad7  Doubtleit  this cataitrophe wonld, 
according  to  our  melaphyticiant.  throw  a 
wonderEiil  light  on  aU  the  part*  of  know- 
ledge. Bnt  of  this  1  am  certain,  thai  in 
lest  than  a  mouth  after  there  could  not, 
wilhont  another  miracle,  be  one  human 
creature  alive  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  .  .  . 
Thit  candle  it  lecmt  halh  not  one  of  thoie 
qualities  it  appears  to  have:  it  ii  not  while. 

extended ;  for  to  an  idea  of  the  mind  not 
one  of  Iheie  qualities  can  potiibly  belong. 
How  ihen  ihall  I  know  what  it  really  ii? 
Prom  what  it  leemt  to  be,  I  can  conchide 
nothing;  no  more  than  a  blind  man,  by 
handling  a  bit  of  black  wax.  can  judge  of 
the  colour  of  mow.  or  the  viiible  appearance 
of  the  ttirry  beaveiu.  The  candle  may  be 
an  Egyptian  pyramid,  or  the  king  of  Piniaia. 
a  mid  dug,  or  nothing  at  all,  for  anything  I 
know,  or  can  ever  know  to  the  conliaty  — 
except  you  aUow  me  10  )ud|e  of  lU  natnte 
from  itt  appearance;  which,  however,  I 
cannot  leaKinably  do,  if  ill  appearance  and 

unlike  ai  not  to  have  one  lingle  quality  in 
common.  I  must  therefore  believe  il  to  be, 
what  it  ajqiears  to  be,  a  reil,  corporeal, 
external  object — and  to  reject  Berkeley's 
system.  .  .  .  This  system  leads  to  Atheism 

and  universal  icepiiciim SuppoM  il 

umverially  and  teriouily  adapted;  (oppose 
all  men  diveited  of  all  belief  and  conse- 
quently of  all  principle :  would  not  the  ditao^ 
Intion   of  loeiety.  and    ihe   dejtruoimi   of 

mmfcind.  ennie? It  it  a  doclriiie 

according  to  which  a  nun  could  not  act  Dor 


I 


368 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkel^. 


[CH. 


efficient  causality  in  the  universe,  which  to  both  is  the  central 
thought — with  Berkeley  the  Great  Concrete  Reality,  with  Hume 
the  greatest  human  illusion.  Now^  is  Berkeley's  principle  for  the 
paralysis  of  the  sensible  world  applicable  also  to  all  existence? 
Hume  raises  this  question.  Hume  and  Positivism  dissubstantiate 
spirits,  and  deny  free  activity  to  mind,  as  well  as  to  solid  and 
extended  things,  and  so  paralyse  the  higher  life  altogether — as  far 
as  it  depends  upon  philosophy.  1$  there  a  rational  ohstaclt  f  this 
result i  and  if  so^  what  is  it?  That  is  the  one  question  for  the  mo- 
dern spiritual  thinker  to  answer.  Berkeley  hardly  looks  at  his 
own  problem  in  this  extensive  light. 

Hume's  universal  paralysis  afterwards  induced  a  reconsideration 
and  critical  analysis  of  reality  and  causality — universally  or  abso- 
lutely, not  merely,  as  with  Berkeley,  in  their  sensible  or  physical 
relations.  It  is  exactly  this  reconsideration  and  analysis  which 
is  due  to  Kant  and  his  successors  in  Germany.  Kant  indeed 
disowns  Berkeley  as  a  subjective  Idealist,  who  reduced  space  and 
the  contents  of  space  to  the  workings  of  imagination  *.  But  it 
must  not  be  forgotten  that  it  was  Berkeley  who  virtually  made 
modern  philosophy  critically  analytic  of  the  necessities  and  uni- 
versals  of  Being,  rather  than  alternately  sceptical  or  dermatic, 
as  it  had  been,  about  the  reality  and  causality  of  unperceivable 
Matter.  For,  the  Germans,  roused  by  the  greater  thoroughness 
and  comprehensiveness  of  the  question  which  Hume  entertained — 
partly  at  the  suggestion  of  Berkeley;  and  also  by  Hume's  own 


reason  in  the  common  affairs  of  life  without 
incurring  the  charge  of  insanity  and  foUy, 
and  involving  himself  in  distress  and  per- 
dition. .  .  .  From  beginning  to  end  it  is  all 
a  mystery  of  falsehood,  arising  from  the  use 
of  ambiguous  words,  and  from  the  gratuitous 
admission  of  principles  which  could  never 
have  been  admitted,  if  they  had  been 
thoroughly  understood.*  {Essay  on  Truths 
vol.  I.  pp.  242 — 260.)  This  is  of  a  piece 
with  other  professed  representations  and  re- 
futations of  the  new  conception  of  what 
sensible  reality  is,  metaphysically  considered, 
which  were  in  vogue  in  last  century.  When 
the  English  Samuel  Johnson  wanted  to  refute 
Berkeley,  his  refutation  consisted  in  striking 
his  foot  with  characteristic  force  against 
a  stone.  With  the  witty  Voltaire  ten  thou- 
sand cannon  balls,  and  ten  thousand  dead 
men,  were   ten   thousand  ideas,   according 


to  Berkeley.  There  is  as  much  subtlety  of 
thought,  and  more  humour,  in  the  Irish 
story  of  Berkeley's  visit  to  Swift  on  a 
rainy  day,  when,  by  the  Dean's  orders,  he 
was  left  to  stand  before  the  unopened  door, 
because,  if  his  philosophy  was  true,  he  could 
as  easily  enter  with  the  door  shot  as 
open. 

*  Kritih  d.r.  Vtmunft  —  'Widerlegong 
des  Idealismus* — Berkeley  refers  to  the 
presumed  constant  activity  of  the  supreme 
efficient  Cause  or  Mind  for  the  explanation 
of  the  permanence  of  sensible  things,  and  of 
their  validity  for  all  sentient  inteUigoice. 
He  does  not  require  for  this  a  presupposi- 
tion of  space.  With  Kant,  and  peihaps 
Hegel,  space  is  an  absolute  intuition,  and 
experience  necessarily  presupposes  its  real 
existence,  in  three  dimensions,  as  the  con- 
dition of  externality-— or  other-than  self. 


B]  Phihsopky  of  Berkeley.  3(19 

HbiQtegration  of  alt  absolute  and  universal  knowledge  into  habits 

Bliudly  induced  in  subjective  association — by  ti^e  unintelligible 

^■stoms  of  the  universe,  have  sought,  in  fresh  analysis,  to  find 

fcitclligibility  instead  of  blind  Custom  at  the  bottom  of  things. 

jNow  Berkeley's  change  of  front  was  the  beginning  of  all  this.     It 

ut  him  logically,  as  he  almost  is  chronologically,  in  the  centre 

'  modern  speculation.     This  change  of  front  cannot  be  too  much 

indered.     There  is  evidence  that  he  himself  was  not  wholly  un- 

(Hiscious  of  it,  and  of  its  great  significance. 

Berkeley's  philosophy,  1  repeat,  was  for  him,  and  indeed  is  for 

icnce  still,  no  mere  speculative  crotchet.     There  is  an  earnest 

liman  interest  that  animates  his  constant  struggle  to  analyse  Per- 

nanence.  Power,  and  Extension  in  the  unperceiving  world.     He 

MDCS  not  want  to  show  that  Matter  is  unsubstantial,  and  that  it 

^not  be  the  cause  of  anything — far  from  this.     No  sane  person 

doubt  its  reality,  or  its  being   in  some  sense  a  cause.     To 

that  would   be  to  discuss  a   frivolous  question.     But   if 

iplc  ask — In  what  meaning  of  the  word  existence  the  sensible 

rid  may  be  said  to  exist;  and  in  what  meaning  of  the  word 

sc  it  may  be  said  to  be  a  cause  ?  that  question— in  his  view 

t>ove  all  other  questions — deserves  serious  discussion:  the  true 

iwer  to  it  makes  Scepticism  and  Materialism  appear  in  a  new 

^t.     For,  the  Berkeleian  philosophy  is,  in  its  conception  if  not 

1  its  execution,  a  reasoned  exposition  of  the  dependent  and  rela- 

Ive  character  of  the  reality  and  causality  of  the  material  world. 

An  outline  of  Berkeley's  process  for  thus  keeping  the  material 
rorld  in  its  reasonable  place,  in  the  thoughts  and  beliefs  of  men, 
lay  be  sufficiently  condensed  to  be  taken  in  almost  by  a  single 
Itellectual  grasp.  To  be  practically  understood,  however,  it  must 
Ve  applied  habitually,  but  one  may  unfold  it,  and  also  some  of 
Fxrhat  it  involves,  in  some  such  way  as  this : — 

I  Take  experience  as  it  is  given  to  us  in  our  senses.  It  is  com- 
posed of  sensations^  ideas^  or  phenomena^  as  Berkeley  indifferently 
Halls  them — '  facts  of  which  there  is  a  perception  or  consciousness,' 
b  the  language  of  our  own  time  ^  We  may  even,  with  Berkeley, 
^faJl  these  sense-given  phenomena  '  sensations.' 

■  *  TTw  littU  word  idia  find  l\   may  be       mrion  and  pbnomtnnn—fat  Berkeley  may 


370 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


Now  reflect  upon  the  so-called  sensations.  They  are  very 
various:  they  are  of  different  colours,  shapes,  and  sizes:  they  are 
hard  or  soft :  their  varieties  of  taste,  smell,  and  sound  are  indefi- 
nitely numerous.  But  nothing  sensible  that  is  out  of  sensation 
can  be  perceived  or  imagined.  An  abstract  sensation — ^that  is,  an 
abstract  phenomenon,  or  (in  Berkeley's  language)  an  abstract  idea 
— is  a  contradiction  in  terms.  Withdraw  all  that  is  concrete,  and 
you  have — not  a  physical  reality,  but — Nothing ;  not  the  thought 
of  Nothing  even,  which  is  something,  but  the  absolute  paralysis  of 
all  thought.  And  all  experience  of  sensible  things  is  a  constant 
illustration  of  the  essentially  sensation  material  of  which  they  are 
made  up.  Reason  and  experience  alike  forbid  us  to  go  deeper 
than  large  or  small,  hard  or  soft,  green  or  red,  or  otherwise  coloured 
and  extended,  sensations,  in  our  experimental  search  into  what 
physical  reality  means — when  we  affirm  it  of  the  material  world. 
Abstract,  unperceivable  Matter  is  a  mere  hypothesis,  and  an  un- 
thinkable hypothesis  too.  The  inconceivable  supposition  of  a 
sensible  thing  existing  out  of  sensation,  or  in  unperceived  abstrac- 
tion, would  be  a  petitio  princifii  ®  if  it  were  conceivable.     This  is 


list,  as  well  as  an  Idealist)  has  been  a  for- 
midable obstruction  to  the  intelligibility  of 
this  philosopher.  With  him  it  means  both 
percept  and  image — not  pure  notion  of 
the  understanding.  And  it  is  with  ideas  as 
actual  sensation-perceptions  that  we  have  to 
do  exclusively,  when  we  are  told  by  him 
that  the  sensible  world  is  composed  of 
ideas.  Simply  to  recollect  what  he  means 
by  idea  is  almost  to  realize  his  concep- 
tion of  the  universe.  When  ordinary  people 
are  told  that  idea  is  the  stuff  or  matter  of 
which,  according  to  Berkeley,  the  real 
things  of  the  sensible  world  are  composed, 
they  are  apt  to  take  this  for  an  assertion 
that  what  we  call  seeing  and  touching  is 
only  fancying;  and  that  what  is  seen  and 
touched  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  mere  sub- 
jective or  private  dream  of  the  person's  own 
mind  who  has  the  ideas — that  it  can  have 
no  extension  or  solidity  or  permanence. 
Now,  Berkeley's  ideas  include  hard  and  ex- 
tended /actSf  and  are  not  mere  fancies  of 
which  we  are  conscious.  He  calls  them 
ideas  because  he  sees  it  to  be  self-evident  that 
facts  cannot  exist  positively  without  a  mind 
to  be  percipient  of  them.  Nor  arc  we, 
on  the  other  hand,  to  think  of  Berkeley's 
ideas,  or  phenomena  perceived  in  sense,  as 
independent  entities  which  circulate  among 


finite  spirits :  their  actual  or  intelligible 
existence  consists  in  being  the  matter  of 
the  experience  of  a  consdons  mind — a  sm 
generis  sort  of  dependent  existence.  But  no 
doubt  his  language  is  vacillating. 

*  The  petitio  principii  is  put  the  other 
way  by  the  learned  Ueberweg,  in  hb  notes 
(e.g.  8,  lo,  a8,  and  90)  to  his  excellent 
German  translation  of  Berkeley's  PrineipUst 
where  he  complains  that  Berkeley  has  as- 
sumed what  he  was  bound  to  prove,  when 
he  assumes  that  a  thing  is  only  an  aggregate 
of  sensations ;  and  where  he  also  compUiDS 
that  Berkeley  reverses  the  common-sense 
meaning  of  words,  which,  literally  taken, 
imply  that  he  is  a  Subjective  Idealist,  or 
rather  an  Egoist.  But  if  sense-symbolism, 
truly  understood,  affords  the  only  basis  of 
objectivity  which  is  consistent  with  the  es- 
sential transitoriness  of  the  sensible  world,  is 
not  the  affirmation  of  an  abstract  unity 
rather  than  its  negation  what  requires 
proof?  Berkeley  professes  to  keep  to  ex- 
perience, and  to  analyse  what  is  involved 
in  that.  Again,  as  the  common-sense  mean- 
ings of  ordinary  words  are  not  the  result 
of  critical  reflection,  must  not  their  meaning 
inevitably  be  modified  when  the  reflective 
philosopher  breathes  fresh  life  into  them  ? 


X.]  Philosophy  of  Berkeley.  371 1 

Berkefey's  argument  in  his  early  works,  but  it  does  not  reappear  | 
in  Shit — which  is  remarkable. 

The  stuff  or  material  of  which  sensible  things  are  composed  is  I 
thus — sensation  or  sensc^iven   phenomenon.     Now,  what  does  1 
this  Bcrketeian  sensation  involve?     Berkeley  is  hardly  articulate  I 
enough  here,  and  the  reader  is  apt  to  suppose  that  he    intends   i 
U>  say  that  externality  means  only  sensation,  when  his  reason- 
iog  abolishes,  as  it  does,  the  dangerous  distinction  between  the 
sensible    existence    of    the    material    world,    and    its    abstract 
existence. 

A  mere  sensation,  ]  think  he  would  grant,  is,  for  several  reasons, 
as  impossible  as  abstract  Matter. 

Sensations,  in  the  hrst  place,  imply  a  percipient,  distinguishable 
from  the  sensations.  There  must  be  a  percipient,  for  there  is  no  i 
evidence  that  an  unperceived  sensation  or  sense-phenomenon  ex- 
islsi  and  besides  its  existence  is  unintelligible.  But,  1  who  per-  I 
ccive  am  not  my  own  sensations.  1  am  conscious  that  1  am  a 
permanent,  active  being,  different  from,  and  independent  of,  the 
changing  tastes,  smells,  colours,  sounds,  and  coloured  or  resistant 
extents,  which  form  my  transitory  sense-given  phenomena.  The 
unique  term  '  I '  is  as  defensible  and  significant  as  any  of  the 
words  that  express  sensations.  This  consciousness  of  my  own 
permanence,  amid  the  changes  in  tny  senses,  is  the  only  archetype, 
in  my  experience,  of  proper  substance  or  permanence ;  and,  apart 
from  this  experience,  permanence  or  substance  is  an  unintelligible 
word.  Now,  there  is  no  conscious  or  other  evidence  of  any  cor- 
responding permanence  among  sensations.  Their  so-called  sub- 
stance must  therefore  mean  what  Js  essentially  different  from  this 
proper  substance. 

The  cause  of  one's  sensations,  in  the  second  place,  must  be 
a  personal  efficiency  that  is  different  from  the  personal  efficiency 
of  which  one  is  conscious  when  he  does  anything  for  which 
he  is  convinced  that  he  is  responsible.  All  that  is  within  the 
range  of  my  responsible  activity  is  (ufar.  Sensations,  or  sense- 
given  phenomena,  as  given,  are  not  within  that  range,  TTierefore, 
for  this  reason  too,  they  are  not  attribuUble  to  the  percipient,  but 
distinguishable  from  the  percipient,  and  the  percipient  from  them. 
On  the  one  hand,  they  are  not  caused  by  the  percipient :  on  the 
B  b  2 


4 

i 


372 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


Other  hand,  they  have  no  proper  eflBcienqr  in  themselves.  We 
do  not  and  cannot  conceive  a  sensation  to  be  responsible  for  any 
of  its  own  changes,  or  for  any  of  the  chaises  in  other  sensations 
with  which  it  is  invariably  connected.  Their  relation  as  separate 
sensations  to  changes  among  themselves  must  be  of  a  different 
sort  from  the  causality  which,  because  it  intelligently  creates  or 
originates  its  own  effects,  involves  responsibility,  or  a  causal 
reference  to  self. 

Both  these  conditions  of  the  existence  of  sensations  Berkeley 
enforces  as,  to  all  intents,  what  we  now  call  necessary  truths- 
held  by  him,  however,  more  as  concrete  facts  than  as  abstract 
principles  ^ 

But  is  this  all?  Shall  I  say  that  the  material  world  means 
only  a  chaos  of  passive,  but  actual^  sensations,  perceived  at 
once  to  be  mine — because  they  need  me  to  be  sentient  of  them 
— and  yet  not  mine — because  not  caused  by  my  will  or  proper 
personality?  Shall  I  say  that  material  substances  and  causes 
resolve  into  this,  and  can  mean  no  more  than  this? 

Only  confusion  of  thought  could  reconcile  this  inadequate  con- 
ception of  the  sensible  world  with  common  sense  and  experience, 
or  indeed  with  the  necessities  of  thought.  A  tree,  or  a  river,  or 
a  planet,  means  more  than  one  actually  perceived  sensation,  and 
more  even  than  a  casual  collection  of  actually  perceived  sensations. 
The  familiar  phenomena  of  seemingly  unperceived  and  insentient 
growth  or  change  in  the  sensible  world,  in  historic  or  prehistoric 
ages,  contradict  the  supposition  of  this  planet,  for  instance,  or 
anything  it  contains,  being  dependent  on  the  accidents  of  finite 
percipiency. 

Berkeley  was  not  blind  to  this,  though  I  am  not  sure  that  he  dis- 
cerned all  that  it  implies.  Let  us  consider  what  we  mean  when 
we  say  that  a  sensible  thing  involves  more  than  the  actual  exist- 
ence of  what  Berkeley  calls  sensations. 

A  mere  sensation  or  phenomenon  is  an  absurdity,  and  cannot 


"*  For  the  former,  sec  the  Principles  pas- 
sim, regarding  the  correlativity  of  sensations, 
or  sense-given  phenomena,  and  percipient 
mind ;  also  the  third  of  the  Dialogues  (ed. 
1734),  where  he  maintains  that  •  I  know  or 
am  conscious  of  my  own  being,  and  that  I 
am  not  my  ideas,  but  somewhat  else.*  For 
the  latter,  see  the  many  passages  in  which  sen- 


sation is  contrasted  with  volition.  Existence 
in  a  dependent  relation  to  the  intelligence  of 
a  personal  consciousness,  seems  quite  consis- 
tent with  the  voluntary  or  proper  personality 
of  that  conscious  person — a  personality 
which  objectifies  what  is  known  to  be  ex- 
ternal to  its  own  proper  or  voluntary 
action. 


X.] 


Philosophy  of  Berkeley. 


373  1 


explain  anything.  For,  sensations  imply  perception,  or  a  know- 
ledge of  them  as  at  once  mine  and  not  mine :  they  are  dependent 
on  me,  for  they  cannot  exist,  as  I  now  have  them,  without  me  to 
be  sentient  of  them;  they  arc  independent  of  me,  for  I  am  per- 
manent while  they  arc  transitory^  and  their  changes  are  inde- 
pendent of  my  will.  The  intuitive  apprehension  of  all  this  is 
immediate  and  original  perception — in  which  we  have  the  germ 
or  embryo  of  what  is  meant  by  sensible  things  being  real.  In  this 
perception,  the  permanent  *  I '  is  in  antithesis  with  the  transient 
sensations;  and  the  free  responsible  'I*  is  in  antithesis  with  the 
externa!  cause  that  is  responsible  for  them. 

All  this,  however,  does  not  exhaust  the  meaning  of  reality  and 
causality,  when  these  predicates  are  applied  to  sensible  things. 
The  material  world  is  not  a  merely  irregular  coexistence  or  succes- 
sion of  perceived  sensations,  jictual  tnsations,  latth  tkeir  involved 
ftreefUtms,  are  intermittent.  They  are  not  nearly  coextensive  with 
what  is  meant  by  a  'sensible  thing,'  The  tree  that  is  seen  at  a 
distance  exists  in  the  actual  sense-perceptions  of  the  person  who 
is  looking  at  it  only  in  a  very  small  degree;  for  it  is  then  un- 
touched, and  the  other  phenomena  or  qualities  which  constitute 
our  notion  of  it  are  not  then  consciously  experienced  in  actual 
sensation.  Even  when  it  is  touched,  it  is  only  touched  in  part. 
Now,  its  (iB/fl-fwiJ?^  qualities  are  not  non-existcot,  when  there  is 
no  actual  sense-perception  of  them.  If  they  are,  the  greater  part 
of  what  I  mean  by  the  tree  must  be  not  real,  even  at  the  moment 
when  I  am  looking  at  the  tree.  All  visible  things  must,  on  this 
absurd  supposition,  go  out  of  existence  when  they  are  left  in  the 
dark;  and  all  tangible  ones  when  no  percipient  being  is  in  actual 
contact  with  them".  The  material  world  could  not  have  existed 
millions  of  ages  before  men  and  other  sentient  beings,  if  this  is 
all  that  its  existence  can  mean.  When  we  say  that  the  material 
world  is  real,  we  conceivably  may,  and  certainly  do,  mean  much 
more  than  that  it  is  a  chaoi  of  actually  perceived  sensations,  which 
are  at  once  dependent  on,  and  independent  of,  the  mind  that  is 
■percipient  of  them. 

This  introduces  us  to  a  modification  of  the  new  conception  of 


I 

4 


•  Eai  being  ferctpi.  c 


Icikdey,  i 


hin  ihii '  abiurd  juppoiition 


374  ^if^  o.nd  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch, 

sensible  things,  that  one  only  partly  recognises  in  Berkeley's  own 
thought.  Yet  it  is  of  the  last  importance.  I  shall  try  to  explain  it, 
and  glance  at  what  seems  his  defect,  at  his  own  point  of  view. 

Actual  sensations  may  conceivably  be,  and  are,  sigi^s  of  sensa- 
tions that  are  past,  and  thus  not  now  actual;  and  also  iv^  of 
future  sensations  that  are  expected,  but  not  yet  actual.  Further, 
there  is  nothing  inconceivable,  because  nothing  of  what  Berkeley 
calls  ^  abstract,'  in  the  supposition  of  present  concrete  sensations 
being  signs  of  other  conscious  and  active  minds,  as  well  as  of 
past  or  future  sensations  of  one's  own,  similar  to  those  one  is 
actually  having  and  has  had.  My  own  consciousness  of  my  per- 
manence and  of  my  free  activity  enables  me  to  conceive  another 
and  similar  permanence  and  agency  that  is  not  my  own :  my  past 
sensations  enable  me  to  imagine  similar  sensations  experienced 
in  the  past  or  the  future — by  myself  or  others.  These  ingredients 
— unlike  the  unintelligible  negation  of  unperceivable  Matter — 
may  legitimately  be  introduced  into  the  positive  conception  rf 
real  external  existence.  And  they  go  to  reconcile  the  intermittenct 
of  actual  sensations  with  the  presumed  permanence  of  the  things  of 
sense.  The  actual  sensations  in  which  the  material  world  is  given 
are  inevitably  believed  to  be  significant  of  co-existences  and  suc- 
cessions that  are  not  at  the  time  given  in  the  actual  sense- 
consciousness  of  the  believer.  Relations  which  are  believed  to  be 
invariable  or  universal  are  thus  assumed  to  pervade  the  world  of 
actual  sense ^.  One  actual  sensation,  or  group  of  sensations  is  the 
universal  mark  of  other  sensations  or  groups  of  sensation  that  are 
not  at  the  time  actual.  This  relation  of  sensible  sign  and  its  cor- 
relative, Berkeley  would  say,  is  the  only  imaginable  meaning  of 
substantiality  or  causality,  when  they  are  attributed  to  essentially 
dependent  and  passive  phenomena  like  those  of  sense. 

Further  still,  these  practically  all  important  relations  of  co-exist- 
ence and  succession  among  perceived  sensations  are,  i  friariy  at 
this  point  of  view,  arbitrary.  That  is  to  say,  there  is  no  uncreated 
or  Divine  necessity  for  their  being  what  we  find  them  to  be.  Any 
sensation,  or  group  of  sensations,  may  be  the  constant  or  universal 
sign  of  any  other.     A  priori^  anything  might  be  the  physical  co- 

®  This    belief    in   the    orderliness,   law,  mon  sense  of  the  philosopher.      Inductive 

or    thought    expressed    in    Nature    is    in-  methods   are   attempts    to   harmonize  our 

volved  in  the  common  sense  of  all,  and  is  human     thoughts     with     those     objectire 

reflectively  recognised  in  the  reasoned  com-  thoughts. 


X.] 


Philosophy  of  Berkel^. 


375 


constituent,  and  physical  cause  of  anything;  for  physical  substance 
and  causality  are  only  the  arbitrarily  constituted  significatiOQ  of 
actual  sensations. 

Thus,  tlie  only  conceivable  and  practical,  and  for  us  the  only 
possible,  substantiality  in  the  material  world  is — permanence  of 
co-existence  or  aggregation  among  sensations  j  and  the  only  con- 
ceivable and  practical,  and  for  us  the  only  possible,  causality 
among  phenomena  is— permanence  or  invariableness  among  their 
successions. 

These  two  are  almost  (but  not  quite)  one.  The  actual  or 
conscious  co-existence  of  all  the  sensations  which  constitute  a 
particular  tree,  or  a  particular  mountain,  cannot  be  simultaneously 
realised.  A  few  co-existing  visible  signs,  for  instance,  lead  us 
to  expect  that  the  many  other  sensations  of  which  the  tree  is  the 
virtual  co-constituent  would  gradually  be  perceived  by  us,  if  the 
conditions  for  our  having  actual  sensations  of  all  the  other  qua- 
lities were  ftilfilled.  The  substantiality  and  causality  of  matter 
thus  resolve  into  a  Universal  Sense -symbolism,  the  interpretation 
of  which  is  the  office  of  physical  science.  The  material  world  is 
a  system  of  interpretable  signs,  dependent  for  its  actual  existence 
in  sense  upon  the  sentient  mind  of  the  interpreter:  but  significant 
of  guaranteed  pains  and  pleasures,  and  the  guaranteed  means  of 
avoiding  and  attaining  pains  and  pleasures :  significant  too  of  other 
minds,  and  their  thoughts,  feelings,  and  volitions  j  and  significant 
above  all  of  Supreme  Mind,  through  whose  Activity  the  signs  are 
sustained,  and  whose  Archetypal  Ideas  are  the  source  of  those 
univeisal  or  invariable  relations  of  theirs  which  make  them  both 
practically  and  scientifically  significant  or  objective.  The  per- 
manence and  efficiency  attributed  to  Matter  is  in  God — in  the 
constitutive  Universals  of  Supreme  Mind:  sensations  or  sense- 
given  phenomena  themselves,  and  sensible  things,  so  far  as  they 
consist  of  sensations,  can  be  neither  permanent  nor  efficient ; 
tbcy  are  in  constant  flux.  This  indeed  is  from  the  beginning  the 
tone  of  Berkeley  himself — much  deepened  in  Srris^". 


"  Sec  the  antitheiii  of  Seme  and  ReiHn 
in  Sim.  Sect.  303— 310.  Thii  retills  th- 
tdnliim  of  lh«  iQcicDt  Hindoon,  of  whic! 
.Sir  W.  Jones  hu  wid  lh»t  the  difficnliie 
anmding  rbe  nlgir  nolion  of  nuteriil  »ub 
ff-Kr-r*  Induced  many  of  Ihe  wiien  among  thi 


among  Ihe  tnodcmi,  11  well  11  the  Hindoo 
philoioplicri,  to  believe  lh»t  the  whole 
creation  wai  lathet  an  enetgj  than  a  work, 
which  the  Infinite  Mind,  who  ii  pietent  at 
a.11  timn  and  in  all  placei,  exhibits  to 


I 


376  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

Thus  sensible  things  are  in  perpetual  flux  or  succession" ;  yet  it 
is  a  flux  or  succession  so  ordered  that  our  transitory,  immediately 
perceived,  sensations  signify  steady  relations  among  sensations, 
which  are  apprehensible  by  the  understanding  in  physical  reason- 
ing. The  material  world — its  substance  or  permanence,  its  powers, 
and  its  space — resolve  themselves  into  a  flux  of  beautifully  signi- 
ficant sensations,  sense-ideas,  or  sense-phenomena,  which  are 
perpetually  sustained  in  existence  by  a  Divine  Reason  and  Will. 
It  is  so  that  the  Berkeleian  Conception  reconciles  Plato  with 
Protagoras. 

Do  critics  object  to  this  sublime  thought  of  what  the  material 
world  means — that  it  may  be,  and  indeed  has  been,  superseded 
by  the  march  of  modem  physical  discovery?  If  they  do,  they 
show  their  own  ignorance  of  the  essence  of  the  answer  to 
the  New  Question,  or  else  of  what  physical  research  aims  at. 
Physical  science  professes  only  to  add  to  our  knowledge  of  what 
sensible  phenomena  are  the  signs  of  what  other  sensible  pheno- 
mena. It  can  never  convert  the  symbolism  which  forms  its  own 
exclusive  province  into  efficient  causality.  The  progress  of  phy- 
sical science  is  progress  in  the  interpretation  of  sense-given  signs. 
It  can  have  no  tendency — however  far  it  may  be  carried — towards 
anything  diflferent  in  kind  from  this.  The  implied  principle  of 
Berkeley — that  there  can  be  nothing  below  real  and  significant 
sensations,  except  conscious  mind;  and  that  this  must  be  per- 
petually below  them,  as  the  condition  of  their  existence,  and  of  their 
significance  or  objectivity — leaves  indefinite  room  for  all  possible 
discovery  of  scientific  fact  and  law.  Faith  and  science,  under  this 
conception,  cannot  come  into  collision :  each  works  in  a  different 
region.  Human  and  other  animal  life,  for  instance,  may  even 
be  developed  from  inorganic  conditions,  consistently  with  Intel- 
ligence being  the  deepest  thing  in  existence — if  physical  evidence 
can  be  found  to  prove  this  law  of  development.  The  proof  can 
only  show  that  such  is  the  Archetypal  Idea  of  the  beginning  of 

creatures   at   a  set  of  perceptions,    like  a  — a  formula  variously  interpreted,  but  which 

wonderful  picture,   or    a    piece    of   music,  aptly  expresses    the   experienced    intermit* 

always  varied,  yet  always  uniform.   But  this  tence  of  the  actual  pbtnomena  given  in  the 

*  sublime  idealism '  omits  elements  which  are  senses,  in  contrast  with  the  steady  objectivity 

at  least  latent  in  Berkeley,  and  exaggerates  of  tbeir  relaHons^  under  the  formal  and  e& 

others  which  are  not  latent.  cient  agency  of  Supreme  Intelligence  that 

'^  XUarra  ^F,  as  the  old  philosophers  said  is  recognised  in  Platonism. 


X.]  Philosophy  of  Ikrkehy.  377  ] 

human  conscious  life,  in  its  relation  to  the  sensible  system. 
Mr.  Darwin  and  Mr.  Huxley,  and  the  German  physiologists  have 
room  to  move  in,  sufficient  for  reaching  all  that  physical  science 
can  accomplish.  May  not  this  arbitrary  sense  symbolism  even 
have  been  without  a  beginning — i  nterpretable,  and  more  or  less 
interpreted  by  finite  minds— but  with  co-eternal  Intelligence  for 
its  correlative  and  consrant  motive  force  ? 

Again.  Is  there  anything  in  the  necessary  dependence  of  per- 
ceived sensations  upon  sentient  mind  which  unfits  them  for  being 
signs  to  the  individual  percipient  of  the  existence  of  other  perci- 
.pient  spirits,  as  well  as  of  other  pierceived  sensations  ?  Rather, 
docs  not  this  very  dependence  make  them  more  fit  than  a  supposed 
abstract  or  independent  Matter  could  do  to  discharge  the  repre- 
sentative or  symbolical  function  ? 

It  Is  assumed  then  that  sense-given  phenomena — the  sensations 
or  real  ideas  of  Berkeley — are  capable  of  representing  other  (sen- 
tient or  non-sentient)  spirits,  and  their  conscious  acts  and  sensa- 
tions; as  well  as  of  representing  other  {p.Tst  or  future)  sensations 
of  our  own.  One's  present  visual  experience,  for  instance,  may 
represent,  by  its  arbitrary  symbolism,  one's  own,  or  some  other 
person's,  tactual  sensations.  This  is  an  intelUgiblc  sort  of 
externality.  And  indeed  can  any  other  sort  of  externality  be 
conceived  than  either — externality  to  our  own  present  sense  ex- 
perience, in  our  now  unactual  past  or  future  sense  experience; 
or,  externality  to  our  own  personal  experience  altogether,  in  the 
cooteraporaneous,  as  well  as  in  the  past  or  future,  sense  experi- 
ence of  other  minds?  One  or  other  of  these  two  kinds  of  ex- 
ternality is  what  we  every  day  have  to  do  with  in  tact.  Actual 
sensations  are  every  moment  signifying  to  us  other  sensations  that 
arc  not  actual,  but  that,  under  certain  conditions,  would  become 
actual.  Actual  sensations  are  not  themselves  equivalent  to  actual 
sensible  things.  They  are  only  the  representative  signs  of  actual 
sensible  things ;  or  (to  put  it  otherwise)  they  arc  the  signs  of  the 
relations  which  constitute  actual  things.  The  things  would  trcomr 
perceived  sensation,  if  all  that  the  actual  sensations  really  sig- 
nify could  be  simultaneously  converted  into  this,  in  any  conscious 
experience. 

Sensible  things  then — trees,  houses,  mountains,  our  own  bodies, 
■and  those  of  other  people ;  in  a  word,  the  *  whole  choir  of  heaven 


I 


I 


378  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

and  furniture  of  earth' — relatively  to  the  individual  percipient- 
consist  at  once  of  actually  presented  and  of  merely  represented 
sensations — ^the  second  element  involving  arbitrary  or  contingent 
relations,  and,  thus  far,  universality  or  objectivity. 

Yet  this  seems  to  give  only  a  contingent  and  terminable 
universality  or  reality  to  the  Supreme  Intelligence  in  the  uni- 
verse. For,  according  to  Berkeley,  the  passive  nature  of  sen- 
sation implies — if  our  common-sense  trust  in  the  permanence 
of  sensible  things  may  be  yielded  to — ^the  constant  activity  of 
Supreme  Intending  Mind,  presenting  the  actual  sensations;  and 
capable  of  making  actual,  where  the  established  conditions  are 
realized,  the  merely  represented  sensations.  This  Divine  Power 
must  be  constant^  and  (though  Berkeley  is  here  doubtful  in  mean- 
ing) must  constantly  work  according  to  the  Archetypal  Ideas  of 
formal  causation,  if  the  order  which  constitutes  sensible  things  is 
permanent.  The  existence  of  this  Power  is,  accordingly,  only  as 
certain  as  the  permanence  of  the  sensible  world  is  certain. 

This  was  Berkeley's  way  of  showing  that  God  exists — of 
demonstrating  the  necessity  or  universality  of  Mind — at  least  it 
was  his  way  in  the  early  part  of  his  life.  But  the  revelation 
of  the  existence  of  Supreme  Mind  or  Power,  which  is  given  in 
the  intermittent  existence  of  sensible  things  in  sentient  creatures, 
seems,  at  best,  evidence  of  the  existence  of  Deity  only  so  long  as 
this  universe  of  actual  and  guaranteed  sensation  lasts.  It  does 
not  show  the  inherent  absoluteness,  universality,  and  necessity  of 
Mind.  The  Supreme  Mind  only  covers  the  gaps  in  the  continuity 
of  an  intermittent,  and  on  the  whole  finite,  sensible  Cosmos.  It 
has  in  this  respect  the  same  defect  that  the  common  evidence 
for  Deity  in  the  natural  universe  has.  It  is  co-existensive  only 
with  the  permanence  of  the  present  sensible  system.  This 
still  leaves  room  for  Hume's  conception  of  the  universe  (both 
the  perceived  and  the  perceiving)  being,  as  a  whole,  only  a 
unique  or  ^singular  effect'  —  which  may  excite  the  sense  of 
mystery,  but  which  can  never  be  resolved  in  human  intelligence. 

Berkeley,  at  least  in  his  early  philosophy,  shows,  I  think,  an 
inadequate  apprehension  of  the  difference  between  the  ignorant 
imaginings  of  men  and  their  guaranteed  imaginings.  He  confuses 
the  account  of  sensible  things,  into  which  I  have  thus  far  tried  to 


xi 


Philosophy  of  Berkeley. 


379 


dcvelopc  his  philosophy,  by  seeming  to  put  the  mere  fancies  of 
human  imagination  on  a  par  with  the  Archetypal  Ideas  of  Supreme 
Mind,  as  a  support  for  sensible  things  in  our  absence,  i.e.  when 
they  arc  unactual  sensations. 

Take,  for  instance,  the  following  passage,  in  the  Common-place 
Book:— 

*  You  ask  me  whether  the  books  are  in  the  Study  now,  when  no  one  is 
Acre  to  see  them  ?  I  answer.  Yes.  You  ask  me  are  we  not  in  the  wrong 
in  imagining  things  to  exist  when  they  are  not  actually  perceived  in  the 
senses  ?  I  answer,  No.  The  csistence  of  our  ideas  consists  in  being 
perceived,  imagirud.  thought  on.  Whenever  they  are  imagined,  or  thought 
ei»,  ihey  do  exist.  Whenever  they  are  mentioned  or  discoursed  of,  they 
are  imagined  or  thought  on.  Therefore,  )'ou  can  at  no  time  ask  me, 
whether  they  exist  or  no,  but,  by  reason  of  that  very  question,  they  must 
necessarily  exist.  But,  say  you,  then  a  chimera  does  exist.  I  answer,  it 
doth  in  one  sense,  i.  e.  it  is  imagined.  But  it  must  be  well  noted  that 
existence  is  vulgarly  restrained  to  actual  perception,  and  llial  I  use  the 
word  perception  in  a  larger  sense  than  ordinary.' 

Now  it  is  true  that  whatever  we  are  conscious  of  {even  in 
aa  arbitrary  imagination)  exists,  but  it  has  not  aecessarily  a 
guaranteed  sensible  or  external  existence.  Now,  it  is  the  mean- 
ing of  tins  existence  that  we  want  to  analyse. 

Or  take  the  following  from  the  PriJK(p/M  of  Human  Ktiei^leJge : — 

'  But.  say  you,  surely  there  is  nothing  easier  than  lo  imagine  trees,  for 
instance,  in  a  park,  or  books  existing  in  a  closet,  and  nobody  by  to  ' 
perceive  them.  1  answer.  You  may  so  ;  there  is  no  difBcuIty  in  il :  but 
what  is  all  this,  I  beseech  you,  more  than  framing  in  your  mind  certain 
ideas  which  you  call  boots  and  trees,  and  at  the  same  time  omitting  lo 
fnime  the  idea  of  any  one  thai  may  perceive  them  ?  But  do  not  you  your- 
self perceive  or  think  of  them  all  ihe  while.  This  therefore  is  nothing  to 
the  purpose :  it  only  shows  you  have  the  power  of  imagining,  or  forming 
ideas,  in  your  mind;  but  it  doth  not  show  that  you  can  conceive  it 
possible  the  objects  of  your  thought  may  exist  without  the  mind :  to 
nuake  out  this,  it  is  necessary  that  you  conceive  them  existing  uncon- 
ccivcd  or  unihought  of,  which  is  a  manifest  repugnancy.' 

All  this  confiises  our  notion  of  the  difference  between  existence 
ia  guaranteed,  and  existence  in  unguaranteed  image  or  reprcsen- 
Lation.     One  does  not  prolong  the  real  or  sense-given  existence 


380  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

of  books  in  a  closet,  or  of  the  furniture  in  a  room,  by  arbitrarily 
imagining  these  things  to  exist  when  one  is  away.  My  fancy  that 
they  exist  gives  them  merely  a  fanciful  existence,  unless  there  is 
a  guarantee,  independently  of  my  private  fancy,  that  they  would 
re-appear  as  sense  phenomena  when  I  shall  have  fulfilled  the 
necessary  conditions,  e.  g.  by  walking  into  the  room  and  seeing 
them.  I  cannot,  merely  by  an  act  of  my  finite  imagination,  flash 
back  into  real,  that  is  to  say,  sensibly  perceived,  existence  what 
has  been  withdrawn  from  my  senses.  I  can  give  it  only  an  unreal 
or  imaginary  existence.  The  Supreme  Thoughts  and  Ends  in  the 
universe  alone  give  it  reality,  and  enable  now  perceived  sensations 
to  stand  guarantee  for  the  past  or  future  actual  existence  of 
imagined  sensations. 

Berkeley  himself,  no  doubt,  lays  great  stress  on  some  of  the 
differences  between  our  experience  of  the  real  ideas  (i.  e.  sensa- 
tions) of  perception  proper,  and  the  unreal  ideas  of  the  mere 
human  imagination — which  last,  he  says,  ^  are  more  properly 
termed  ideas  or  images  ^^! 

If  the  significant  phenomena  of  which  sensible  things  are  com- 
posed are  thus  perceived-sensation,  or  sense-idea,  it  becomes 
important  to  ponder  on  many  sides  the  consistency  with  this  of 
the  continued  existence  of  sensible  things — during  the  innumer- 
able intervals  when  they  are,  in  whole  or  in  part,  non-existent 
in  actual  sensation.  I  am  tempted  to  introduce  the  following 
illustrative  passages  in  the  writings  of  two  philosophers,  one 
Berkeley's  immediate  predecessor,  the  other  one  of  his  contempo- 
raries— a  German  and  an  American.  Take  the  following  hints 
in  Leibnitz's  curious  tract  De  Mode  Distinguendi  Fhenamena  Realia 
ah  Imaginarus^  where  he  describes  marks  peculiar  to  the  well- 
ordered  ^ dream'  of  real  life,  as  distinguishable  in  kind  from 
dreams  commonly  so  called : — 

'  Potissimum  realitatis  phsenomenorum  indicium  quod  vel  solum 
sufficit,  est  successus  praedicendi  phaenomena  futura  ex  prseteritis  et 
presentibus  .  .  .  imo  etsi  tota  haec  vita  non  nisi  somnium,  et  mundus 
adspectabilis  non  nisi  phantasma  esse  diceretur,  hoc,  sive  somnium  sive 

'^  See,  for  instance^  Principles  of  Human  wards ;    and  by  their  independence  of  our 

Knowledge^  sect.  29 — 33.     But  even  when  volition — although  the  current  of  our  ima- 

he  does  this,  he  distinguishes  *  real  things '  gination,  in  dreams,  for  instance,  seems  in* 

from  *  chimeras '  chiefly  in  degree — *  in  being  dependent  of  the.  will.     A   defect  in  his 

more  clear  and  vivid,'  as  Hume  does  after-  account  of  space  appears  here. 


U] 


Philosophy  of  Berkeley. 


381 


sroa,  ego  sails  reale  dicerem,  si  ratione  bene  ulentes  numquam 
ab  eo  deciperemur  .  .  .  Itaque  nulla  argumento  absolute  demonstrari 
potest,  dari  corpora,  nee  quicquam  pro-hibel  somnia  qusedam  bene  ordi- 
nata  menti  nostrae  objecia  esse,  quK  a  nobis  vera  judicentur,  et  ob  con- 
sensum  inter  se,  quoad  usum  veris  equivalent  .  .  ,  Quid  vero  si  tota  hsec 
brevis  vita  non  nisi  longum  quoddam  sotnnium  esset  nosque  moriendo 
crigileremus  ?  quale  quid  Platonid  concipere  videntur.' 

The  following  is  still  more  acutely  to  the  point,  and  is  all  the   ' 
more  to  be  referred  to,  because  it  proceeds  from  one  whom  we 
have  already  unexpectedly  found  connected  with  Berkeley  " : — 

'  Since  all  material  exislence  is  only  idea,  this  question  may  be  asked — 
In  what  sense  may  those  things  be  said  to  eJtisI,  which  are  supposed, 
and  yet  are  in  no  actual  idea  of  any  created  minds  f  1  answer,  ihey 
existed  only  in  Uncreated  Idea.  But  how  do  they  exist  otherwise  than 
they  did  from  all  elernity ;  for  they  always  were  in  Uncreated  Idea  and 
Divine  appointment?  I  answer,  They  did  exist  from  all  eternity  in 
Uncreated  Idea,  as  did  everything  else,  and  as  they  do  at  present,  but  | 
not  in  created  idea.  But  ii  may  be  asked,  How  do  those  things  exist, 
which  have  an  actual  existence,  but  of  which  no  created  mind  is  con-  , 
scious  f — For  instance,  the  furniture  of  this  room,  when  we  are  absent, 
and  the  room  is  shut  up,  and  no  created  mind  perceives  it ;  how  do 
these  things  exist?  1  answer, there  has  been  in  rimes  past  such  a  course 
and  succession  of  existences,  that  these  things  must  be  supposed,  to  make 
the  series  complete,  according  to  Divine  appointment,  of  the  order  of 
things.  And  there  will  be  innumerable  things  consequential,  which  will 
tie  out  of  joint,  out  of  their  constituted  series,  without  the  supposition  of 
these.  For,  upon  the  supposition  of  these  tilings,  are  infinite  numbers  of 
things  otherwise  than  they  would  be,  if  these  were  not  by  God  thus  sup- 
posed Vea,  the  whole  Universe  would  be  otherwise ;  such  an  influence 
have  these  things,  by  their  attraction  and  otherwise.  Yea,  there  must  be 
a  universal  attraction,  in  the  whole  system  of  things,  from  the  beginning 
of  the  world  to  the  end— and,  to  speak  more  strictly  and  metaphysically, 
we  must  say.  in  the  whole  system  and  series  of  ideas  in  all  created 
minds ; — so  that  these  things  must  necessarily  be  put  in,  to  make  complete 
the  system  of  the  ideal  world.  That  is,  they  must  be  supposed,  if  the 
train  of  ideas  6e  in  the  order  and  course  settled  by  the  Supreme  Mind. 
So  that  we  may  answer  in  short,  that  ihe  existence  of  these  things  if 
God's  supposing  of  them,  in  order  to  the  rendering  complete  the  series 
of  things  (to  speak  more  strictly,  the  scries  of  ideas)  according  to  his  own 

"  RtmaTH  on  Mind,  by  Jonalh»n  Edwaidi.  in  the  Appcndli  10  hit  Life. 


382  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley,  [cH. 

settled  order,  and  4hat  harmonj  of  things,  which  he  has  appointed— The 
supposition  of  God,  idiich  we  speak  of,  is  nothing  else  but  God's  acting, 
in  the  course  and  series  of  his  exciting  ideas,  as  if  they  (the  things 
supposed)  were  in  actual  idea.' 

There  is  an  oversight  of  the  full  force  of  the  objection,  and  also  of 
the  answer  to  it,  in  the  iIlusti:ation  in  this  last  passage-^^-an  over- 
sight of  which  Berkeley  himself,  and  all  others,  so  far  as  I  am  aware, 
who  have  referred  to  this  curious  question,  are  guilty — altliougfa  what 
is  overlooked  is  implied  in  the  very  Principle  of  Berkeley  himself. 
When  it  is  asked  bow  the  furniture  of  a  room  continues  to  exist  in 
the  absence  of  a  percipient,  it  seems  to  be  forgotten  that  the  same 
question  might  be  put  regarding  its  continued  existence  when 
he  is  present.  When  I  see  an  orange  on  a  table,  without  touch- 
ing it,  or  applying  any  of  my  senses  except  seeing  to  it,  most 
of  the  sense  phenomena  of  which  it  consists  are  not  actual, 
as  for  as  my  sense-consciousness  of  them  is  concerned.  There 
is  as  great  (or  as  little)  difficulty  in  reconciling  this  conception 
of  the  meaning  of  sensible  things  with  our  experience  of  a  sen- 
sible thing  when  it  is  said  to  be  actually  presented  to  us,  as  there 
is  in  reconciling  it  with  the  continued  existence  of  the  furniture 
of  a  room  when  no  one  is  in  the  room,  or  with  the  continued 
existence  of  the  solar  system  before  men  or  other  sentient  beings 
existed  (as  modern  geology  reveals  it),  or  after  all  of  them  may 
have  been  withdrawn  from  it  ^*. 

Thus,  a  '  sensible  thing '  means  to  us  a  group  of  ctmceivahle  sensa- 
tions, universally  or  objectively  guaranteed  by  the  perceived  sensa- 
tions with  which  they  are  associated.  The  existence  of  a  sensible 
thing,  accordingly,  implies  all  that  can  be  found  by  critical  analysis 
to  be  implied  in  the  existence  of  an  actual  sensation,  and  also  in 
the  existence  of  this  guarantee. 

If  the  reader  has  tested  by  reflection  what  I  have  thus  far 
written,  he  may  perhaps  be  willing  to  accompany  me  in  pondering 
some  hitherto  unremarked  phases  of  the  Berkeleian  conception, 
and  some  of  its  less  remarked  relations  to  antecedent  and  later 
philosophical  thought. 

*^  The  Archetypal  Conceptions  of  Deity  ceivable  Matter  he  argaes   against.     And 

are  not  prominent  in  Berkeley,  though  they  then  the  question  rises.  Are  they  more  iote{- 

are   involved   in   his   sensible   world,  inas-  ligible  than  the  abstract  Matter  for  which 

much  as  his  philosophy  really  puts  them  at  they  are  substituted  ?     Of  this  elsewhere, 
last  in  place  of  the  unconceived  or  incon- 


Philosophy  of  Berkeley. 


383 


(B.) 
The  Berielfian  Immeiihfe  Perception  of  Extended  Sensible  Reality. 

It  has  been  overlooked  by  historians  of  philosophy  that  the 
Bcrkeleian  account  of  what  is  meant  by  sensible  reality  might  be 
made  eclectically  to  combine  truth  that  is  divided  between  two 
opposite  accounts  of  sense-perception,  which  in  last  century  and 
in  the  present  have  played  a  considerable  part  In  the  history  of 
at  least  British  philosophy.  I  refer  to  the  controversy  as  to 
whether  our  perception  of  the  real  things  of  the  sensible  world 
is  immediate,  and  so  of  the  nature  of  a  being  conscious 
of  them;  or  whether,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  throughout  mediate 
and  representative.  Rcid,  the  Scotch  philosopher,  takes  credit 
to  himself  for  having  exploded  the  favourite  hypothesis,  that  in 
the  senses  we  are  p^^rcipient  only  of  ideas  or  representations  of 
real  things,  '  1  think  there  is  hardly  anything  that  can  be  called 
mim*  in  the  philosophy  of  mind,'  he  says,  '  which  does  not  follow 
with  case  from  the  detection  of  this  prejudice.'  Hamilton  has 
worked  out  immediate  perception  to  profound  issues  uncontem- 
plated by  Reid,  And  Dean  Mansel  has  stil]  more  clearly  enforced 
the  non-representative  character  of  the  phenomena  presented  in 
sense,  and  the  consequent  impossibility  of  error  in  direct  sense- 
perception. 

Now,  the  immediate  perception  of  Berkeley  is,  in  spirit  and 
intention,  an  anticipation  of  Reid,  Hamilton,  and  Dean  Mansel ; 
while  the  sense  symbolism  of  Berkeley  preserves  what  is  good  in 
the  spirit  of  the  counter  supposition  of  representative  activity  being 
involved  in  what  seems  on  the  surface  to  be  a  direct  knowledge  of 
sensible  things.     This  subj.'ct  is  worth  looking  into  for  a  little. 

Berkeley  saw  not  less  acutely  than  Reid  did,  that  the  favourite 
assumption  of  a  double  object  in  sense-perception  mistook  tbe 
very  meaning  of  sensible  reality  and  externality.  He  acknow- 
ledged only  a  single  object,  and  that  the  very  sense-given  pheno- 
menon itself — in  short,  the  very  sensation  (as  he  often  called  it) 
of  which  one  is  conscious, — no  abstract  sensation,  mark,  of  which 
there  can  be  no  knowk-dgc  at  all.  And  sensations,  he  said,  imply 
a  percipient ;  they  are  also  both  substantially  and  causally  diftcrcnt 
from  the  E%p;  or  rather  </'  am  both  substantially  and  causally 


384  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch, 

diflRrrent  from  them :  I  exclude  or  expel  them  from  myself — in  the 
antithesis  of  sensibility  and  will. 

Des  Cartes,  Nlalebrandie,  Locke,  and  contemporary  philosophers, 
on  the  other  hand,  took  for  granted  that  what  we  perceive  in  tiie 
senses  is  not  the  very  reality  itself.  They  supposed  that  in  sense 
we  could  be  conscious  only  of  a  representation  {jdeu  as  some  of 
them  called  it)  of  the  real  thing — the  reality  itself  existing  beyond 
sight  and  sense,  behind  the  subjective  representations.  Of  the  very 
reality  it  seemed  to  them  that  we  could  not  be  directly  percipient 
at  all.  A  wcM-Id  of  representations — fh>m  which  perhaps  we  may 
/«/«r  a  real  existence  behind — ^was  all  that  we  could  perceive.  By 
reasoning,  they  tried  to  defend  the  reasonableness  of  our  belief  in 
the  unperceived  reality ;  but  all  the  reasoning  they  o£Fered  seemed 
not  enough  for  the  purpose.  So  faith  in  other  minds  and  ia  God 
was  ready  -to  dissolve  in  mere  sensationalism ;  or  in  a  subjective 
idealism,  on  the  extreme  hmif  imeusura  principle.  All  this,  Berkeley 
thought,  was  the  very  root  of  Scepticism  j — ^  for  so  long  as  men  be- 
lieve that  real  things  subsist  without  the  mind,  and  that  their 
knowledge  is  only  so  hx  forth  real  as  it  is  conformable  to  real 
things,  they  cannot  be  certain  that  they  have  any  knowledge  at 
all.'  <  How,'  he  asks,  ^  can  it  be  known  that  the  things  which  are 
perceived  (i.  e.  only  the  representative  ideas)  are  conformable  to 
those  things  that  are  not  perceived,  or  that  exist  without  the 
mind^*?'  We  can  test  the  representations  of  our  imagination  by 
the  presentations  of  sense.  But,  if  what  is  given  in  sense  too  is 
essentially  representative,  how  can  we  verify  its  representations  ? 
To  lay  a  foundation  for  real  knowledge,  we  must  have  a  direct 
perception  of  the  sort  of  stuff  sensible  things  are  made  up  of  to 
begin  with. 

Now,  entia  non  sunt  multtfltcanda  frsettr  necessitatem.  There  is 
no  need,  he  began  to  see,  for  the  supposition  of  an  unperceived,  in- 
conceivable substance  and  cause  as  this  external  reality.  On  the 
favourite  philosophical  assumption  of^a  double  object  in  all  sense- 
perception — a  representative  idea,  and  an  unperceivable  reality 
which  the  idea  stands  for — we  cannot,  under  any  conditions, 
be  face  to  face  with  a  single  specimen  of  sensible   existence. 

'^  *  Without  the  mind/  i.e.,  in  the  case  of  ing  real  truth,  viz.  that  our  ideas  can  only  be 

sentient   beings,   irrelatively    to   sensations.  compared  with  one  another,  never  with  the 

All  this  is  intended  to  meet  the  old  sceptical  very  reality  itself, 
argument  against  the  possibility  of  our  reach- 


t] 


Philosophy  of  Berkeley. 


385 


;t  ict  tomfthing  sensibly  real — something  from  which  physical 

science  may  start  on  its  course  of  interpreting  natural  signs^ 

be  only  given,  and  then,  by  interpretation   {nature  interpretdtie)^ 

can  work  our  way,  in  physical  discoveries,  to  a  reasonable 

belief  in  the  existence— past,  present,  and  future — of  many  other 

Knsible  phenomena  and  things,  which  never  actually  come  within 

r  iodividual  experience  in  the  senses.     But  how  can  physical 

ience  extend,  or  even  commence,  its  victories,  if  it  must  begin 

taking   for   granted   that   no   specimen  of  the   sensibly  real 

n  ever  be  present  to  consciousness  ?     The  spirit  of  this  ques- 

loQ   is  involved  in  the  thought   alike  of  the   Irish  and  of  the 

tcotch  philosophers. 

Why  not  boldly  deny  then,  once  for  all,  that  there  is  a  double 

l>ject  in  our  original  experience  as  percipient  beings?     Why  not 

rjr  whether  life  on  this  planet  may  not  become  more  simple  and 

"  itclligibic,  and  our  belief  in  surrounding  moral  agents,  and  in 

Supreme  Mind,  more  deep  and  enlightened,  on  the  common-sense 

ipposition  of  a  single  object  only,  and  that  the  real  object— on  a 

in  short,  to  concrete  facts,  from  verbal  reasonings  and 

ict  suppositions? 

This  was  in  spirit  the  question  entertained  in  common  by  two 

'  itee  nth -century  philosophers  usually  placed   in  antagonism — 

kcley,  who  regarded  himself  as  the  common-sense  metaphy- 

.n  of  Ireland;  and  Reid  and  his  successors,  who  proclaimed 

themselves  the  common-sense  metaphysicians  of  Scotland.     I  am 

not  sure  that  expressions   in   Berkeley   did  not  actually  surest 

■flie    thought    to    Reid  "■.      Berkeley    and    the    Scotch   psycholo- 

i^sts  are  at  any  rate,  without  concert,  agreed  in   insisting  on 

Ihe    abolition   of   the    representative    or    hypothetical    Realism 

Vhich  insists  that  the  real,  sensible   thing  must   necessarily  be 

wholly  out  of  sight  and  sense,  hid  behind   the   idea!  or  rcpre- 

pHiting  object  that  is  assumed  to  be  all  that  is  given  to  us  as 

substitute.     They  both  say  in  effect — 'Why  not  let  go  one 

these  two  counterpart  worlds,  and  recognise  as  real  the  world 

ich  remains,  and  which  is  directly  given  to  us?*     Both  seek 

this  means  to  restore  a  languishing  philosophical  faith  in  what 


»  Reid  uyi  Hut   in  one  pirt  of  hii 
■  belicred  tbe  dnctiinc  uf  pemptiai 
Bgh  the  medium  "f  repteieiil: 
VOUIV. 


io  firmlj  >. 


/n/(H«n.ni  Poui 


386 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


is  beyond  sense.  And  Berkeley  has  in  consequence  helped  to  inau- 
gurate a  new  conception  of  the  nature  of  the  sense-given  medium 
of  intercourse,  through  which  the  conscious  persons  who  are  im- 
mersed in  this  phenomenal  world  of  ^sensations'  converse  with 
one  another  and  with  God. 

But,  while  Berkeley  and  the  Scotch  psychologists  are  agreed 
in  discarding  the  dogma  that  the  real  material  world  is  hid  behind 
the  representative  world  of  which  only  (it  had  been  assumed)  we 
can  be  conscious  in  the  senses,  they  difier  (or  seem  to  differ)  as 
to  which  of  the  two  is  to  be  discarded  ". 

Look  first  at  the  Immediate  Sense-Realism  of  Berkeley.  He  dis- 
cards— as  an  unintelligible  abstraction — ^the  supposed  unperceiving 
and  unperceived  archetypal  material  world  behind,  and  recc^ises 
in  our  very  sensations  or  sense-given  phenomena  themselves  the 
only  real  sensible  things.  By  interpreting  sense-given  {^enomena, 
whose  order  and  significance  enable  us  to  infer  past,  and  to  foresee 
future  phenomena^  or,  like  the  handwriting  on  the  wall,  reveal 
the  present  existence  and  activity  of  other  conscious  minds  like 
our  own — we  form  our  notions  of  sensible  things,  and  become 
en  rapport  with  other  persons.  We  are  able,  as  it  were,  to  look 
into  what  might  have  been  our  own  past  sense-experience,  and 
reasonably  to  expect  what  our  own  future  sense-experience  \s  to 
become ;  and  we  are  also  able  to  look  into  other  conscious  expe- 
rience than  our  own — like  our  own,  yet  not  ours.  But  we  cannot 
look  at,  we  cannot  imagine,  sense  phenomena,  and  sensible  things, 
continuing  to  exist  out  of  all  relation  to  any  conscious  mind. 
Our  'sensations*  (as  Berkeley  chooses  to  call  them),  of  which  we 
cannot  be  conscious  without  perceiving  them  to  be  at  once  ours 
and  not  ours — at  once  in  subjective  and  in  objective  relations,  are 


"  We  may  rudely  symbolize  the  contrast 
of  presentative  and  representative  Percep- 
tion ;  also  that  between  Berkeley's  presenta- 
tionism,  and  that  of  Reid  and  Hamilton,  by 
help  of  the  circumferences  of  two  concentric 
circles — a  greater  and  a  smaller — the  con- 
scious mind  being  supposed  in  the  centre. 
Perception  through  representative  ideas  may 
be  figured  by  the  two  circles — ^the  inner 
standing  for  the  ideas  we  are  conscious  of, 
and  the  outer  by  the  reality  in  space  which 
they   stand  for.      Berkeley   abolished   the 


outer  circle,  and  tried  to  show  that  the 
inner  retains  all  that  can  belong  to  presen- 
tations or  phenomena  given  in  the  senses ; 
which,  as  presentative,  are  the  human  pro- 
totype of  all  that  is  imaginable  regarding 
the  things  of  sense.  Reid  abolished  the 
inner  circle,  or  professed  to  do  so,  and  to 
bring  the  outer  circle  within  our  immediate 
knowledge.  Qu.  In  what  do  the  two  circles 
differ,  when  the  outer  is  recognised  in  its 
true  relation  to  our  sensation  and  to  uni- 
versal intelligence? 


X.]  Philosophy  of  Ber^ehy.  387 

the  kind  of  matter  or  stuff  of  which  sensible  things  are  composed, 
and  out  of  which  they  are  perpetually  kept  in  being  by  the  construc- 
tive activity  of  Divine,  and  the  receptivity  and  activity  of  human 
mind.  The  universal  relations,  or  rules,  according  to  which  sen- 
sations are  cscitcd  in  the  system  of  sentient  beings,  are,  under  this 
conception,  what  we  commonly  call  the  Laws  of  Nature. 

The  existence  of  this  material  world,  Berkeley  proclaims  '%  can- 
not be  denied.  It  docs  not  need  to  be  proved.  Its  very  esse  is 
fercipi,  which  is  the  same  as  to  say  that  its  essence  consists  in  its 
being  composed  of  sensation ; — sensation  that  is  at  once  dependent 
on  the  sentient,  and,  in  its  cause  and  other  relations,  independent 
of  the  sentient — at  once  subjective  and  objective — as  every  sense- 
given  phenomenon  must  be.  This,  he  would  further  say,  is  the 
only  material  world  which  a  reflective  common  sense  requires. 
Tlie  supplementary  Matter,  behind  these  percepts  of  sense,  is  a 
baseless  hypothesis — a  cnitchet  of  the  professional  manufacturers 
of  abstractions,  which  unsttphisticated  human  beings  would  laugh 
at,  if  they  could  only  be  got  to  understand  its  meaning,  or  rather 
its  absolute  want  of  all  possible  intelligibility.  Such  is  the  Im- 
mediate Sense-Realism  of  Berkeley. 

Turn  now  from  Berkeley  to  those  Scotch  psychologists  who 
have  been  placed,  by  themselves  and  others,  at  the  opposite  intel- 
lectual pole.  Berkeley  and  Hamilton,  for  instance,  are  at  one  in 
acknowledging  that  the  sensible  reality  consists  of — that  which  we 
perceive  or  are  conscious  of  in  the  senses.  They  seem  to  differ 
in  their  accounts  of  -what  that  is  of  which  we  arc  thus  conscious. 
Berkeley  would  arrest  metaphysical  scepticism  by  surrendering— as 
absolute  Negation^ — the  supposed  unpcrceiving  and  unperceived 
existence  (behind  what  we  perceive),  to  which  exclusively  reality 
had  been  attributed;  and  by  energetically  vindicating  the  applica- 
bility of  the  terms  '  real,'  *  objective,'  *  external,'  *  thing,'  '  matter," 
&c.,  to  our  extended  sensations  themselves,  in  their  various  signi- 
ficant, and  therefore  (at  least  contingently)  universal,  or  objective 
relations.  The  Scotch  psycholt^ists,  with  a  similar  motive,  take 
ihe  other  alternative.  Instead  of  surrendering  the  unperceiving 
and  unperceived  world,  supposed  by  some  philosophers  to  exist 

ind  in  ihe  Principlts  apd  Dialogurt. 


388 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


behind  what  we  perceive,  and  to  be  the  material  nmnmenom  or 
thtng-hf-itself^  they  surrender  the  supposed  representative  ideas, 
and  seem  sturdily  to  assert  that  in  sense-perception  we  are  fece 
to  face  with  a  world  that  exists  independently  of  all  sensation  and 
of  all  intelligence — an  extended  world  that  in  its  essence  might 
survive  the  absolute  extinction  of  all  the  conscious  life  in  tiie 
universe.  Both  root  the  faith  which  we  have  in  the  real  exist- 
ence of  other  minds,  in  the  assumption  of  common  reason — that 
in  the  senses  we  are  conscious  of  being  in  direct  intercourse  with 
the  very  reality  of  external  things.  If  external  things  are  per- 
ceived immediately,  we  have,  acc(»'ding  to  Reid,  the  same  reason 
to  believe  in  their  existence  that  philosophers  have  to  believe  in 
their  supposed  representative  ideas — we  are  conscious  of  them,  in 
short.  But  the  supposed  representative  ideas  themselves,  Berkeley 
virtually  says,  are  not  representative  at  all ;  they  are  neither  more 
nor  less  than  this— our  really  experienced  sensations,  with  what- 
ever is  metaphysically  involved  in  sensation.  These,  with  their 
significant,  because  invariable,  relations,  are  a  sufficient  medium 
for  revealing  to  the  individual  percipient  the  universe  of  sensible 
things,  and  the  contemporaneous  existence  of  other  spirits:  no 
other  sort  of  external  reality  than  this,  he  would  say,  is  required, 
or  can  even  be  conceived  possible  J^. 


Thus,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  the  state  of  this  ancient  philo- 
sophical controversy  was  changed.  Instead  of  an  oflFer  of  evidence 
for  the  transcendent  reality  of  a  material  world,  we  are  first  asked 
by  Berkeley  to  consider  what  we  ought  to  mean  by  its  reality;  and 
then  we  are  asked  by  Reid  to  assume  the  reality,  but  without 
any  deeper  inquiry  about  the  meaning  of  what  we  thus  assume. 
Berkeley  and  (so  far)  the  Scotch  psychologists  are  agreed  in 
abandoning  mere  conjectures  and  abstractions,  and  in  entreating 
people  to  read  the  facts  of  sense -experience  with  a  fresh  eye. 
We  do  not  need,  they  say,  to  hunt  up  evidence  that  a  real  world 


*•  In  an  essay  in  the  North  BrUisb 
Review  (No.  85)  on  Mr.  Mill's  speculation 
about  the  nature  of  Matter  and  Mind,  in  his 
Examination  0/  Sir  W.  Hamilton  s  Pbi- 
losopby^  I  ventured  some  remarks  on  Hamil- 
ton's Unconditioned,  on  the  import  of  this 
negative  conception,  in  its  relation  to  Ber- 
keley's negation  of  Abstract  Matter,  and  on 


the  relations  between  Hamilton's  conceptioo 
and  Berkeley's.  The  remarks  were  the  oc* 
casion  of  an  interesting  essay  in  the  Fort' 
nigbdy  Review  (Sept.  1 866),  on  the  questioa, 
*Was  Sir  W.  Hamilton  a  Berkkian?'  by 
Dr.  J.  Hutchison  Stirling,  to  whose  fenrHl 
genius  English  readers  are  so  much  indebted 
for  exercise  of  thought  about  Hegel. 


Philosophy  of  Berkeley. 


389 


if  Matter  exists,  behind  phantasms  of  which  alone  we  were 
JRSUpposed  to  be  directly  conscious.  On  the  contrary,  tliey  aslt 
00  the  faith  of  experience,  to  accept  as  the  sensible  reality 
bosc  of  the  (supposed)  phantasms  which  make  their  appearance  in 
be  senses.  The  phenomena  thus  offered  to  us — call  them  '  ideas," 
■  *  sensations,'  or '  phenomena,'  or '  percepts,'  or '  external  things,' 
(  we  please — are,  Berkeley  proclaims,  real  enough  for  all  practical 
irposesi  because  they  are  real  enough  to  connect  us,  through  their 
ilations  (which  physical  science  tolerably  interprets),  with  the 
Sosmos,  with  the  other  spirits  involved  in  it,  and  with  Supreme 
dind.  If  this  is  so,  the  office  of  human  understanding,  when  it 
applied  to  the  world  of  the  senses,  is  to  interpret  the  meaning 
the  phenomena  ofiFered  in  sense — not  to  defend  the  existence 
|f  sensible  things,  which  do  not  need  defence. 

A   comparison   of  these  two  modes  of  thought  regarding  the 

ensible  universe  suggests  a  question  which  underlies  both,  but 
which    neither    Berkeley    nor    the    Scotch    psychol exists    were 

ally   in  sight,  though  it  rises  in  some  of  the  aphorisms  of  SirU. 

[xistence  {sensible  or  any  other)  cannot,  in  its  nature,  Berkeley, 
suppose,  means  to  say,  survive  the  extinction  of  all  intelligent 

Ctivity  in  the  universe;  and  the  actual  phenomena  presented  in 
insc  cannot  survive  the  extinction  of  sense-inteliigence.     Try  to 

Onccive  the  extinction:  we  cannot.  It  is  blank  negation,  with- 
:  even  the  tliought  of  its  being  negation.  This  is  proof,  by 
■ntal  experiment,  we  may  suppose  him  to  say,  of  the  absolute 

npossibility  of  an  existence  that  is  unperceiving  and  unperceived 

—that  is  not  perceiving  or  conscious,  as  a  concrete  mind  always 
^ ;  nor  perceived,  as  every  concrete  sensation  must  be. 
Now,  is  conscious  life  necessarily  the  deepest  thing  in  exist- 
ce  ?      May  there  not  be  uncreattd  conditions  of  conscious  cxpc- 
mce  which  are  deeper  still,  inasmuch  as  by  them  all  conscious 


•  The  nnbroken  coniimaty  of  t 

"* Dt  in  finite  nindi  ii  a  difficulty  viim 

mmKtejt  u  wcU  »  what  n  meinl  by  the 
toy  which  conililuiet  1  finite  pertaii.  He 
^^tt  U>  meet  the  forma  by  irguing  from 
[  ewentutly  iditive  latuie  of  Time.  By 
tog  amtciina  1  man,  knowing  pheno- 
na.  wbetba  eitcnded  ot  untxtrndeJ , 
tch  an  immediately  and  actually  preicnt 


10  the  CI 


diate  perceptiori  of  lenie-given  phenomena 
— in  which,  hy  ihe  way,  the  concrete  ot 
■econdaiy  ire  neceuarily  blended  with  ihe 
abitnct  or  primary  ijBiiitiei — ii  an  obltD- 
■iire   fiample  of  what   ii  meant  by  being 

feeling  while  one  ii  reeling  it. 


390  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

life  that  ever  makes  its  appearance  must  h  friori  be  r^;ulated? 
May  not  the  distinction  between  Matter  and  Form,  for  instance, 
be  one  of  these  conditions?  Berkeley  himself  seems  to  imply 
that  a  formal,  efficient,  and  final  Cause  is  an  uncreated  con- 
dition of  those  perceiving  and  perceived  beings,  in  the  midst 
of  which  we  find  ourselves,  and  which  alone  we  can  positively 
imagine.  May  there  not  be  other  a  frieri  conditions  of  existence, 
besides  these,  all  forming  as  it  were  the  uncreated  essence  of 
Deity,  and  manifested  now,  more  or  less  fully,  in  our  sensible 
world?  It  seems  as  if  Berkeley  were  coming  in  sight  of  this 
question  in  Shls^  and  that  in  some  passages  we  have  a  recognition 
of  its  relevancy  and  propriety.  It  was  perhaps  suggested  to  him 
by  his  more  comprehensive  study,  in  later  life,  of  Ancient 
Philosophy.  The  conception  of  uncreated  necessities,  at  once  of 
thought  and  of  existence,  dimly  unfolds  itself  in  his  account  of  the 
Platonic  and  the  Aristotelian  notion  of  Matter ;  and  also  in  the 
speculation  about  Personality,  as  distinguishable  from  Reason  and 
Life  in  Deity,  in  the  Philosophical  Trinity  with  which  Shis 
concludes*^. 


With  Berkeley,  then,  as  professedly  with  Reid  and  Hamilton, 
the  actual  extended  phenomena  which  compose  sensible  things  are 
presented  in  perception — that  is  to  say,  we  are  conscious  of  them. 
So  far,  he  is  what  Hamilton  calls  a  natural  realist — a  believer 
in  presentative,  as  contrasted  with  a  representative  perception. 
But,  at  another  point  of  view,  is  he  not  also  (unconsciously  to 
himself,  I  might  say)  a  representationist,  or  a  believer  in  a 
mediate  perception  of  sensible  things  ? 

Berkeley  surely  goes  too  far  in  the  passages  in  which  he  speaks 
of  all  doubt  regarding  the  existence  of  sensible  things  (things  I  say, 
not  mere  unaggregated  phenomena  22)  being  impossible  on  his  phi- 
losophy— as  impossible,  I  suppose,  as  it  is  to  doubt  the  existence  of 
a  feeling  of  pain  or  of  pleasure  when  one  is  actually  conscious 
of  either.  Berkeley  here  assumes  too  much  for  his  natural  realism. 
He  is  virtually  a  representationist  as  well  as  a  presentationist 

*  See  5in5,  sect.  311 — 318,351 — 36a.         different    sorts,   aggregated    in    accordance 
^    Sensible    things,    it    is    to    be    re>       with  the  universals  which  are  their  fbnnal 
membered,  are  sense-given  phenomena,  of      cause. 


xj  Philosophy  of  Berkeky.  39  r 

It  is  certainly  impossible  to  doubt  the  existence  of  a  sensation, 
while  we  are  sentient  of  it,  or  of  a  group  of  sensations,  while 
we  are  sentient  of  them.  So  far  as  sensations  involve  immediate 
p.Tceptions,  it  may  be  said  that  their  existence  cannot  conceivably 
be  doubted.  But  external  things — trees,  houses,  mountains,  the 
starry  heavens — are,  as  I  have  reiterated,  more  than  actually  per- 
ceived sensations.  These  are  chiefly  not  actual  sensations  at  all; 
they  are  rather  that  which  the  sensations  signify.  When  I  see  a 
tree,  the  greater  number  by  far  of  its  so-called  qualities  do  not 
exist  as  actual  sensations  of  mine.  My  sensations  signify  the 
future  existence  of  those  so-called  qualities,  as  actual  sensations 
of  mine, on  certain  conditions  being  fulfilled  which  are  intelligible 
to  the  understanding.  The  sensations  which  I  have  are  signifi- 
cant of  other  sensations  which  1  have  not,  although  the  represen- 
tative conceptions  of  those  other  sensations  are  included  in  what 
I  reasonably  believe  about  the  partially  presented  *  tree.'  And 
if  we  apply,  as  common  language  almost  obliges  us  to  do,  the  term 
*  perception '  to  our  discernment  of  the  individual  tree  as  a  whole, 
as  well  as  to  the  present  sensational  experience  of  the  small 
portion  of  it  contained  in  our  visual  consciousness  at  the  time, 
we  may  then  say  that  perception  is  representative  or  mediate,  as 
well  as  prcscnlative  or  immediate. 

There  is  thus  room  (in  imagination  at  least)  for  doubt  about 
the  existence  of  sensible  things  i — that  is  to  say,  doubt  is  not  for- 
bidden, in  the  same  way  as  doubt  about  the  existence  of  those 
of  their  sensational  constituents  of  which  we  are  actually  having 
sensations  is  forbidden,  at  the  time  when  we  are  having  the  sen- 
sations. We  can  suppose  our  actual  sensations  to  be  false  signs 
of  other  sensations  (not  at  the  moment  actually  experienced),  and 
also  false  signs  of  the  existence  of  other  persons  like  ourselves. 
The  supposition  of  their  falsity  as  signs  would  be  simply  a  doubt 
about  the  rational  presumption,  that  natural  order  is  constant  or 
uniform — that  we  are  living  in  a  steadily  sustained  Cosmos^'. 

According  to  this  conception,  thus  further  carried  out,  there  is 
an  clement  of  truth  in  the  assumption  of  a  prcsentative  perception  j 
but  there  is  also  an  element  of  truth  in  the  assumption  of  a  repre- 
sentative perception.  We  have  interrupted  perceptions:  there  is 
an  uninterrupted  sense  significance.  Respect  for  any  hypothesis, 
»  Cf,  AWi,  lert.  lil. 


392  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [CH. 

like  that  of  representative  perception,  which  has  permanently 
governed  well-exercised  minds  favours  this  sort  of  eclecticism. 
Scintillations  of  truth  may  be  found  in  all  long-standing  opinions. 

We  may,  accordingly,  examine  the  representative,  or  mediate 
perception,  which,  as  well  as  the  intuitive  or  presentative  sort, 
is  thus  latent  in  the  New  Conception  of  Berkeley. 

C 

BerkeMan  Mediate  Ferceptsom^  or  Presumfttve  Inference  ef  the  existence 
of  Sensible  Things  and  their  Relations — illustrated  in  the  Theorj  of 
Vision. 

Many  plausible  reasons  have  induced  philosophers  to  assume 
that  all  perception  of  the  extended  world  must  be  in  its  very 
nature  representative.  The  principal  one  has  been  the  difficulty 
of  reconciling  the  intermittent  character  of  sense  phenomena  with 
the  supposed  permanence  or  continued  identity  of  sensible  things 
— the  flux  of  sense-given  phenomena,  contrasted  with  the  supposed 
influxahle  nature  of  external  things.  The  presumed  ontological 
antithesis  between  what  is  conscious  and  what  is  space-occupying 
was  another :  but  this  was  more  an  artificial  difficulty  of  abstract 
metaphysics. 

The  conclusive  objection  to  a  perception  that  is  throughout  only 
representative  is,  that  this  is  either  a  wanton  reduplication  of  what 
might  be  given  in  simplicity,  if  the  representative  medium  is  an 
image  of  what  it  represents;  or  that,  on  the  other  hand,  it  in- 
volves scepticism,  if  the  real  world  has  no  analogy  at  all  to  the 
current  and  (so-called)  representing  medium.  Human  imagina- 
tion cannot  represent  what  has  never  been  presented  to  it — what 
it  has  never  been  conscious  of.  For  instance,  a  man  bom  blind 
cannot  imagine  scarlet,  or  any  other  colour.  Till  we  have  had 
some  direct  or  conscious  experience  of  the  sort  of  phenomena 
of  which  the  sensible,  world  consists,  we  cannot  begin  to  represent 
material  things  to  ourselves,  either  in  the  senses  or  in  imagination. 
After  we  have  had  this  direct  experience,  representation  or  imagi- 
nation is  easy — and  language  or  symbolical  representation  too; 
for  the  represented  is  then  similar  in  kind  to  what  has  been  already 
presented — and  the  two,  moreover,  may  be  brought  together  by 


-] 


Philosophy  of  Berkeley. 


393 


of  non-rescmbling  signs.  Till  we  have  had  sensible  expe- 
rience of  sights,  and  been  also  conscious  of  locomotive  exertion 
and  the  feelings  of  contact,  coloured  extension,  and  resistance,  we 
cannot  make  of  the  former  signs,  on  which  to  rest  an  expectation 
of  fijture  instances  of  the  latter.  After  we  have  had  sensible 
experience  of  both,  we  can,  and  do,  employ  the  one  as  means  of 
practical  information  about  the  other.  Now,  this  sort  of  repre- 
sentative and  acquired  perception  is  no  mere  hypothesis. 

This  brings  us  to  Berkeley's  Theory  of  Vision,  or  Visual  Lan- 
guage, in  which  what  may  be  called  representative,  or  at  least 
substitutive  and  symbolical,  perception  is  latent.  The  theory 
supplies  by  far  the  most  curious  and  elaborate  example  of  that 
sort  of  perception,  and  of  the  universal  relations  which  are  worked 
into  external  things.  Accordingly,  it  is  deeply  worthy  of  critical 
.tion,  and  in  some  detail. 


Tlicre  is  at  once  an  antithesis  and  a  synthesis  involved  in  all 
sensible  things.  The  purport  of  the  new  account  of  Vision  is  to 
shed  light  upon  both,  where  both  are  most  apt  to  be  hid — in  the 
antithesis  and  synthesis  of  ii;V»«/ and  r««««/ sensations  or  qualities. 
How  comes  it  to  pass,'  Berkeley  asks,  '  that  we  apprehend  by  the 
ideas  of  sight  certain  other  ideas,  which  neither  resemble  them, 
nor  cause  them,  nor  are  caused  by  them,  nor  have  any  necessary 
connection  with  them?  .  .  .  The  solution  of  this  prd>lem,  in  its 
fij|]  extent,  doth  comprehend  the  whole  theory  of  vision.  This 
stating  of  the  matter  piaccth  it  on  a  new  foot,  and  in  a  difFerent 
light  from  all  preceding  theories  'V 

His  solution  explains  the  fact  of  the  connection  of  what  is  im- 
mediately seen  with  its  real  but  unseen  meaning.  The  expla- 
nation reposes  (and  this  has  been  often  overlooked)  upon  the  moral 
presumption  of  a  divinely  established  association  between  visible 
l^enomena  and  tangible  phenomena — a  rationally  maintained 
barmony  between  the  visual  and  the  tactual  phenomena  in 
nature. 

The  proposition  that  much  which  is  commonly  called  percep- 
tion, but  which  is  properly  induction,  is  founded  on  this  objective 
lOr  universal  sort  of  association  requires  reflective  analysis.  Till  we 

"  Tbtwj  of  Vi»oi>  VmiLcaltd  and  Explmncd.  «el.  4a. 


4 


394  ^if^  ^^  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

have  reflected  deeply,  we  are  apt  to  take  for  granted  (for  obvious 
reasons)  that  we  can  see  and  touch  the  same  immediate  object  of 
sense.  There  is  an  orange  on  the  table  before  us.  We  sponta- 
neously say  that  we  at  once  see  it  and  touch  it.  But  this  ^  it ' 
conceals  what  might  carry  us  to  the  heart  of  things— seeming 
to  imply  that  when  we  see  the  orange,  and  touch  the  orange, 
we  can  see  what  we  are  touching,  and  touch  what  we  are  seeing. 
Now,  the  visibly  extended  sensations  which  we  perceive  when 
we  are  seeing  an  orange  have  really  nothing  in  common  with 
the  hard,  resisting  sensations  which  we  perceive  when  we  are 
touching  an  orange.  We  cannot  possibly  identify  the  perception 
of  expanded  colomr^  which  is  all  that  originally  constitutes  seeing, 
with  the  perception  of  felt  reshtamcey  which  is  all  that  originally 
constitutes  touching.  Coloured  extension  is  antithetical  to  felt 
extension.  In  fact,  we  do  not  see,  we  never  saw,  and  we  never 
can  see  the  orange  of  mere  touch;  we  do  not  touch,  we  never 
touched,  and  we  never  can  touch  the  orange  of  mere  sight.  We 
connect  them  under  the  same  name  indeed.  But  is  not  this  after 
we  have  had  experience  of  each,  and  also  after  an  unvarying  ex- 
perience has  informed  us  that  they  were  companions  ?  After  we 
have  had  this  experience,  as  soon  as  we  see  the  visible  orange 
within  our  reach,  we  confidently  predict  that,  on  certain  organic 
conditions  being  fulfilled,  we  shall  have  experience  of  a  tangible 
orange.  The  simultaneous  modifications  of  coloured  expanse  which 
form  our  visual  consciousness  are  accepted  as  reliable  signs  which 
foretell  the  successive  modifications  of  tactual  and  locomotive  sensa- 
tion which  will  ensue  if  we  take  the  orange  into  our  hands  and  play 
with  it.  We  may  say,  if  we  choose,  that  we  both  see  and  touch 
the  extension  of  that  or  any  other  sensible  thing ;  but  in  saying  this 
we  are  playing  with  words.  When  we  test  our  words  by  our  ex- 
perience, we  find  that  the  sensibly  extended  world  of  which  wc  arc 
conscious  in  pure  seeing  has  nothing  but  the  name  in  common 
with  the  sensibly  extended  world  of  which  we  are  conscious  in 
pure  tactual,  muscular,  and  locomotive  sense.  They  are  no  more 
to  be  identified  (and  called  by  the  same  name)  than  the  nine 
letters  which  compose  the  word  'extension*  are  to  be  identi- 
fied, either  with  the  colours  contemporaneously  present  in  vision, 
or  with  the  (partly  continuous  and  partly  broken)  sensations  of 
resistance  of  which  we  are  conscious  when  our  bodies  or  any  of 


X.] 


Philosophy  of  Berkeley. 


395 


their  organs  are  in   motion.     In  vision,  '  extension '  consists  of  a 
greater  or  less  number  of  minima  visibilia ;  in  touch,  it  consists  of 
a  greater  or  less  number  of  minima  langHi/ia — the  magnitude  of  the    j 
sensible  thing,  in  each  case,  being  proportioned  to  the  number  of 
its  respective  units; — and  the  term  *  extension  *  being  exclusively 
applicable  to  either,  according  as  we  prefer  the  greater  practical 
importance  of  the  tangible  signification,  on  the  one  hand,  or  the    , 
greater  clearness  and  distinctness    in  Imagination   of  its  visible    ' 
sign,  on  the  other. 

Thus,  in  this  curious  life  of  ours  in  the  sensible  world,  tangible 
things  are  signified  by  visual  sensations ;  and  it  may  be  added  that 
visible  things  are  signified,  though  less  distinctly,  by  tactual  and 
Icxx»motive  sensations.  Faith  in  an  established  or  external  associ- 
ation between  these  two  kinds  of  sense -phenomena  is  the  basis 
of  the  constructive  activity  of  intellect  in  all  inductive  interpreta- 
tion of  sensible  things.  All  our  sense-phenomena,  as  well  as  the 
visual  and  tactual  ones,  are  indeed  cosmically  associated.  But  the 
associations  between  smells  and  tastes,  for  instance,  or  between 
tastes  and  sounds,  arc  far  less  elaborate,  and  far  less  fitted  to 
give  a  distinct,  and  easily  imaginable  objectivity  to  the  realities 
of  which  the  sense-phenomena  wc  are  actually  conscious  of  are 
the  signs,  than  associations  between  what  is  seen  and  what  is  felt. 
Even  isolated  sensations  are,  as  1  have  tried  to  show,  necessarily 
significant  of  more  than  themselves ;  for  they  cannot  but  signify  a 
sentient  being,  and  an  efficient  cause  external  to  that  sentient 
being:  every  sensation  thus  necessarily  involves  more  than  sensa- 
tion. It  is  a  very  obscure  notion  of  externality,  however,  that 
could  be  involved  in  isolated  sensations — a  series  of  sensations  of 
physical  pleasure  and  physical  pain,  for  instance.  It  is  only  when 
we  are  concerned  with  the  relations  between  what  is  seen  and  what 
is  felt  that  the  objective  clement,  latent  in  all  intelligent  or  con- 
scious sensation,  becomes  distinct,  in  that  elaborate  standing 
order  of  nature  of  which  these  two  sorts  of  sensation  are  emphati- 
cally the  signs,  and  in  being  so  are  the  signs  of  the  Rational  Con- 
ceptions of  which  that  order  is  the  expression.  Isolated  sensations, 
accordingly,  are  not  to  be  confounded  with  the  permanent  realities 
which  are  perceived  [prrcepta — taken  hold  of,  through  their  me^ns). 
Perception  attains  to  a  higher  development  in  the  correlative  ex- 
perience of  the  seen  and  the  felt  than  it  docs  in  any  other  sort 


396  Life  and  Letters  of  Berteley.  [ch. 

of  sense-experience.  It  is  here  obtrusively  concerned  with  the 
thought,  meaning,  or  universality  that  is  in  nature,  for  it  is  con- 
cerned with  distinctly  ascertainable  natural  law.  Moreover,  the 
sensational  signs  themselves  are  often  blended  with  their  mean- 
ing, in  the  same  way  as  spoken  or  written  words  are,  when  used, 
as  they  are  habitually,  without  a  distinct  consciousness,  at  the 
moment  we  are  using  them,  of  what  they  signify  9\ 

Berkeley  has  been  credited  with  the  discovery  of  the  in- 
visibility of  Distance.  The  proposition,  ^distance  is  invisible,' 
has  been  supposed  by  many  to  exhaust  his  peculiar  Theory  of 
Vision.  This  involves  a  confusion  of  thought  as  to  what  his 
discovery  really  is,  and  a  misconception  of  his  diief  purpose. 
As  I  have  shown  elsewhere,  the  fact  is  that  he  takes  the  invis- 
ibility of  distance  in  the  line  ef  sight  for  granted,  as  a  common 
scientific  truth  of  his  time.  He  takes  for  granted  that  in  seeing 
we  can  have  no  original  or  presentative  perception  of  this  kind 
of  distance^  and  that  wc  must  learn  to  see  it  representatively 
through  a  medium — which,  of  course,  is  not  seeing  it  at  aU. 
The  question  that  he  really  investigates  is,  the  question  of  the 
medium — what  it  is.  Is  it  mathematical  relations,  involved  in 
what  is  seen,  which  yield  a  knowledge  of  distance  as  a  necessary 
inference?  or  is  discernment  of  distance  simply  an  interpretation 
of  physical  meaning — a  discovery  of  arbitrarily  established,  not 
of  absolutely  necessitated,  relations  of  sensations  among  them- 
selves? His  main  aim  is,  to  prove  that  the  relations  which 
contribute  to  form  distance,  and  trinal  extension,  are  entirely 
arbitrary — founded  on  Divine  Will  and  Plan, — not  necessary  re- 
lations, derived  from  uncreated  conditions  of  Being.  *  Seeing 
distance,'  in  short,  is,  with  him, — interpreting  the  arbitrary 
tactual  meaning  of  sensations  given  in  sight, — not  evolving 
mathematically  necessary  relations.  This  visual  interpretation  is 
the  most  striking  and  beautiful  of  all  examples  of  the  genuine 
kind  of  representative — or,  as  we  should  perhaps  call  it,  substitu- 
.tive,  or   interpretative — Perception.      In   it   is  wrapped   up  the 

*  The  Hamiltonian  teaching  about  the  elements  in  perception — and  even  the  Am- 

inverse  ratio  of  sensation   and   perception,  totelian   Common    Sensibles,  are   curioQiIj 

and  older   teaching  about    the   distinction  approached  in  this   paragraph,    by  a  new 

between  primary  and  secondary  qualities  of  route — distinctions  which  nTiere  Materialism, 

Matter,-. i.e.  the  necessary  and  the  empirical  and  Subjective  Idealism  alike  annihilate. 


Philosophy  of  Berkeley. 


397 


whole  problem  of  cause  and  effect  among  sensible  events,  regarded 

rr  St — physical  causation,  in  short. 
Now,  is  physical  causation  a  purely  arbitrary  relation  of  sign  and 

ignificatioHj  or  does  it  imply  an  uncreated  necessity  in  things? 

'his  is  one  question  discussed  by  implication  in  the  theory  of 
vision,  directed  as  its  analysis  is  to  those  relations  of  co-existence 

ind  succession  among  the  phenomena  of  the  sensible  world,  which, 

forllitri,  are  necessary,  if  any  are.    The  question  at  the  root  of  the 
Berkcleian  account  of  vision  might   be   expressed   thus:— Is  the 

insibte  world    kept  tr^ether  and  sustained  by  a   Mathematical 

id  Materialistic  Necessity,  or  by  a  Free  and  Rational  Will**? 
|f  even  the  very  connection  between  the  visible  and  tangible  qua- 
lities of  things  is  not  due  to  an  uncreated  necessity,  but  to  the 
voluntary,  providential  activity  of  God,  we  may  conclude  that  the 
essential  texture  or  construction  of  the  sensible  world  throughout 
thus  voluntary  and  arbitrary.  When  we  look  at  Berkeley's 
speculation  about  vision  as  a  whole,  in  its  earlier  and  in  its 
later  form,  we  find  that  it  tends  to  not  less  than  this.  It  is  a 
stroke  directed  against  Materialistic  Necessity  and  Blind  Fatalism 
in  the  universe,  by  the  abolition  of  all  (previously  supposed) 
necessary  connection  among  the  sensc^iven  phenomena  which 
^  to  constitute,  and  which  suggest  to  us,  sensible  things :  it 
enforces  the  essential  arbitrariness  of  all  such  connection.  That 
even  'vision  of  distance'  is  interpretation  and  not  demonstration 
is  as  it  were  a  crucial  instance. 

The  theory  of  vision,  then,  is  a  reasoned  defence  of  the 
proposition  —  that  what  is  called  *  seeing '  the  externality,  dis- 
tance, figure,  and  size  of  a  real  thing  is  tnily  interpreting  the 
visual  signs  with  which  real  externality,  distance,  figure,  and  size 
are  arbitrarily  but  universally  associated  in  the  perpetual  provi- 
dcnce  of  a  Supreme  Mind.  It  is  based  upon  those  universals  that 
are  arbitrary,  not  on  uncreated  necessities  of  knowing  and  being. 

It  is  n  question,  and  to  some  extent  one  of  detail,  whether 
Berkeley,  in  this  part  of  his  system,  has  drawn  the  line  with 
accuracy  between  the  sensible  signs — which  are  visual,  and  the 
intelligible  significations — which  arc  (not  tangible  but)  invisible. 


398  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

He  may  be  right,  for  instance,  in  treating  the  relation  as  in 
its  nature  one  of  physical  and  arbitrary  connection,  and  yet 
wrong  in  part  or  all  of  his  account  of  what  the  actual  language 
is;  in  the  same  manner  as  one  might  argue,  in  a  general  way, 
the  arbitrariness  of  the  relations  between  the  names  in  any  lan- 
guage (Greek  or  German^  for  instance)  and  their  meanings,  while 
be  is  unacquainted  with  the  languages  themselves.  He  may  also 
be  right  in  conceiving  the  relation  to  be  analogous  to  what  we 
find  in  artificial  language,  and  yet  wrong  in  supposing  that  man 
requires  to  learn  the  language  by  experience  and  association  of 
ideas :  its  meaning  might  be  given  to  us  instinctively,  as  it  were. 
It  may  be  worth  while,  then,  to  look  at  some  of  the  objections 
which  have  been  made  to  Berkeley's  account  of  what  the  visual 
signs  are ;  what  is  given  in  them ;  and  how  they  come  to 
signify  for  us  what  he  says  they  signify.  After  that,  the  implied 
account  of  what  physical  causation  is,  and  the  nature  of  inductive 
inquiry,  might  be  considered;  also  the  dogmatic  assumption  of 
the  *  arbitrariness  *  of  Supreme  Rational  Will. 

As  objections  to  Berkeley's  account  of  the  manner  in  which  we 
discover  trinal  extension,  it  has  been  aigued : — that  he  has  given 
no  proof  that  distance  is^  absolutely  and  in  all  its  degrees,  in- 
visible ;  that  he  has  given  no  proof  that  distance  is  in  any  of  its 
degrees  perceived  in  touch ;  that  he  has  not  proved  the  supposed 
association  between  the  visible  and  the  tangible  on  which  the 
theory  reposes ;  and  that  the  signs  of  distance  are  not  merely  arbi- 
trary, for  that  the  perspective  lines,  for  instance,  which  he  allows 
are  signs  of  distance,  could  not  be  other  than  they  are,  and  imply 
a  sense  of  necessity — so  that  persons  born  blind  can  anticipate 
the  visible  constructions  of  geometry,  in  a  way  which  seems  to 
show  that  visible  and  tangible  extension  are  no  more  heterc^eneous 
than  visible  and  tangible  number  ^, 

In  the  first  place,  then,  according  to  Berkeley,  distance  cannot 
be  seen.     It  is  said  that  he  has  not  proved  the  paradox.     Let  us 

"  Some  of  these  objections  may  be  found  in  disprove  tbe  received  (or  Berkleiam)  ntory 

the  work  of  the  latest,  and  one  of  the  ablest,  of  Vision^  (1864).     On  this  work  I  made 

adverse  critics  of  the  Theory  of  Vision —  some   hastily  written   obscnrations,  a  few 

the  present  eminent  Professor  of  Moral  Philo-  weeks  after  its  appearance,  in  an  artide  in 

sophy,  in  Berkeley's  own  College.     See  Mr.  the  Norib  British  Review,  No.  81. 
Abbott's  Sight  and  Touch  :   an  attempt  to 


X.] 


Philosop/iy  of  Berkeley. 


399 

distinctly  understand  what  is  intended,  when  it  is  asserted  that 
distance  cannot  be  seen,  and  what  the  reasons  for  the  assertion  are. 

In  the  wide  meaning  of  the  word  'seeing,'  it  is  allowed  by  all 
who  know  what  they  arc  speaking  abcait,  that  distance  can  be  seen. 
Wc  can  certainly  see  signs  of  distances ;  for  example,  degrees  of 
conAision  in  what  we  see — when  the  real  thing  whose  distance  we 
are  said  to  see  is  near  at  hand;  aerial  and  linear  perspective, 
combined  with  a  previous  knowledge  of  the  intermediate  things 
in  the  visible  panorama,  —  when  the  sensible  reality  is  more 
remote.  The  vague  expression  'seeing  things  around  us  to  be 
at  different  distances,'  accordingly,  means  (original  or  acquired) 
power  to  interpret  perspective.  What  Berkeley  denied  was,  that 
the  visible  panorama  could,  before  trial,  inform  us  what  our 
tactual  and  locomotive  sensations  would  be,  if  we  were  to  try 
to  have  the  sensible  experience  which  we  call  moving  our  body 
or  any  of  its  members.  He,  further,  denied  that  we  could  have 
this  knowledge  without  some  ejtpcriencc  of  the  established  con- 
nection between  the  visual. sensations  and  the  tactual  or  loco- 
motive ones; — and  one  may  add,  even  with  that,  unUss  we  also 
recognise  and  trust  in  those  inwrought  Archetypal  Conceptions  to 
which  nature  conforms,  and  which  thus  constitute  the  Cosmos. 
If  we  choose,  with  this  important  explanation  of  our  meaning,  to 
call  the  habit  of  interpreting  visual  signs  of  distance,  'seeing 
distances,'  psychology  does  not  forbid,  and  conventional  language 
rather  invites  us. 

What,  then,  is  the  sort  of  distance  which  cannot  be  seen,  the 
invisibility  of  which  was  proclaimed  by  the  received  science  of 
Berkeley's  own  time?  I  do  not  believe  that  he  meant  to  say  that 
distance  was  in  all  respects  invisible,  and  that  unextendcd  colour 
could  alone  be  seen.  The  sensations  which  we  perceive  in  seeing 
involve  more  than  colour.  They  may  involve  intervals  betwt:en 
coloured  points.  Now,  visible  distance  is  necessarily  an  interval 
between  two  visible  points.  Wherever  distance  is  seen,  two 
points  (with  a  greater  or  less  interval  between  them)  must  be 
seen.  A  single  point  does  not,  and  cannot,  give  any  distance 
at  alL 

The  conclusion,  then,  which  Berkeley  set  out  by  accepting  from 
science  was,  that  distance,  or  an  interval  between  two  points, 
cannot  be  si;en,  in  those  cases  in  which  the  object  seen  is  strictly 


400  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

• 
in  the  line  of  vision,  and  not  extended  laterally  before  the  eye. 
In  other  words,  he  assumed  that  outness  from  the  eye — externality, 
in  this  secondary  meaning  of  ^  externality' — the  thickness  of  space, 
in  short,  cannot  be  seen:  it  is  not  given  in  any  of  the  purely 
visual  i^enomena  of  which  we  are  percipient.  Distance  becomes 
visible  only  when  it  becomes  angular,  that  is  to  say,  extended 
either  right  and  left,  or  vertically. 

Here  are  his  own  words  ^ : — 

• 

'  It  is,  I  think,  agreed  by  all,  that  distance  [i.  e.  distance  in  a  direct 
line  outwards],  of  itself  and  immediately,  cannot  be  seen.  For  distance 
being  a  line  directed  endwise  to  the  eye,  it  projects  only  one  point  in  the 
fund  of  the  eye ;  which  point  remains  invariably  the  same,  whether  the 
distance  be  longer  or  shorter.' 

In  fiact,  what  we  see  is,  and  must  be,  a  single,  unvarying  point, 
as  far  as  our  consciousness  of  it  goes,  unless  it  is  extended  by 
being  brought  out  of  the  line  of  sight,  and  placed  more  or  less 
laterally.  But  when  it  is  thus  presented,  it  is  no  longer  distance 
outwards,  but  coloured  expanse,  the  visibility  of  which  was  not 
disputed.  If  only  one  end  can  be  seen  of  a  line  extended  straight 
out  from  the  organ  of  vision,  it  follows  that  distance  in  that  line 
is  invisible^  because  distance  requires  two  points,  and  in  the 
supposed  case  only  one  point  is  seen.  The  invisibility  of  that 
sort  of  distance  can  thus  be  proved  even  to  the  Idomenian;  and 
the  physiological  phenomena  of  the  retina  so  far  correspond  with 
this  evidence  of  consciousness — for,  it  appears  on  examination 
that  only  one  unvarying  point  is  projected  there. 

In  the  second  place,  can  distance,  that  is  outness  or  externality, 
be  touched?  Berkeley's  answer  to  this  question  is  more  ambiguous. 
Here  and  there  he  speaks  of  distance  as  if  it  consisted  in  what  is 
tactually  perceived,  or  rather  in  that  experience  of  locomotive 
exertion  which  contributes  to  the  less  exact  meaning  of  the  term 
*  touch.'  He  also  attributes  reality  exclusively  to  tactual  length, 
breadth,  and  thickness  ^  refusing  (for  reasons  given)  to  recognise 
as  real  the  visible  signs  of  tactual  length,  breadth,  and  thickness. 
Tangibility  or  solidity  is  with  him,  as  with  so  many,  the 
phenomenal  essence  of  matter. 

^  New  Theory  of  Vision,  sect.  a. 


X.]  Philosophy  of  Berkilcy.  401 

A  prcscntativc  perception  of  trinal  extension  in  pure  tactual  I 
sensation,  or  in  the  phenomenon  of  resistance  to  locomotive  effort, 
is,  however,  contrary  to  the  analogy  of  his  philosophy.     Accord-  1 
ing  to  that   analogy,  a   phenomenon   or   immediate  perception,, 
whether  of  sight  or  of  touch,  can  give  no  more  than  the  knowledge  I 
that  it  is  itself  at  once  mine  and  not  mine.     It  gives  the  vague  [ 
knowledge  of  a  voluntary  activity  external  to  my  own;  not  the  I 
knowledge  of  a  permanent,  external,  sensible  thing,  projected  out  I 
from  our  bodies  in  space.  This  last  is  reached  not  in  mere  seeing, 
nor   in   mere  touching  either,  but   after  habitual   comparison  of 
what  is  seen  with  what  is  touched ;  and  a  recc^nition  of  the  former 
as  being,  in  the  (divinely)  established  system,  invariably  related  to, 
which  is  the  same  as  to  say  significant  of,  the  latter. 

When  Berkeley's  language  on  this  subject  is  liberally  inter- 
preted, in  analt^  with  his  philosophy  as  a  whole,  it  appears  to  ' 
affirm  that  actual  outness  is  neither  an  object  of  sight,  nor 
an  object  of  touch.  It  is  known  through  a  notion  and  belief, 
that  is  formed  by  a  comparison  of  certain  sensations  in  visual  I 
experience  with  certain  sensations  and  exertions  in  tactual  ex-  I 
periencc,  and  a  recognition  of  the  former  as  (according  to  the 
Universal  Plan)  the  invariable  sign  of  the  latter.  The  notion 
of  distance  outwards,  invisible  and  intangible,  is,  accordingly,  not 
an  impression  in  sense  at  all,  but  a  result  of  Presumptive  or  Induc- 
tive Intelligence.  When  we  seem  to  imagine  trinal  space,  wc  no 
doubt  imagine  what  is  visible,  and  not  what  is  tangible;  but  we 
imagine  the  vision  in  some  of  its  invariable  relations  to  some- 
thing else.  We  imagine  it  as  the  type  or  sign  in  nature  of  tactual 
and  locomotive  sensation  and  exertion.  This  does  not  derive 
space  from  mere  sensuous  impressions,  but  from  sensuous  impres- 
sions anrvtTialixed^  and  therefore  significant,  by  the  Will  and 
in  the  Thought  of  God,  their  efficient,  formal,  and  final  cause. 
Thus  the  vision  in  sense  of  the  '  choir  of  heaven  and  firmament 
of  earth'  suggests  an  image  of  the  indefinite  room  there  is  in 
nature  Ibr  tactual,  locomotive,  and  other  sense  experience.  Direct 
perception,  whether  in  sight  or  in  touch,  docs  not  yield  this 
really  sublime  conception.  It  is  only  perception  in  alliance  with 
the  interpretative  reason  that  docs  so.  Distance  outwards  is 
not  an  actual  sense  phenomenon,  but  the  natural  and  invisible 
meamng  of  visually  given  phenomena.  It  is  a  prevision  ofwhatj 
VOL.  IV.  D  d 


402  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley,  [ca 

on  the  conditions  being  fulfilled,  sense  experience  is  certain  to 
become.  It  can  be  perceived  only  indirectly,  representatively,  and 
under  an  implied  notion  or  universaL  It  supposes  a  successicMi  of 
acts  and  sensations,  and  cannot  be  found  in  any  single  sensation 
or  direct  perception.  When  I  seem  to  /f»  a  real  thing — a  tree  or 
a  mountain — out  in  space,  I  really /tfrer^  a  longer  or  shorter  series 
of  sensations  and  exertions.  Distance  or  outness  itself  cannot 
exist,  either  in  actual  seeing  or  actual  feeling.  It  exists,  and  can 
exist,  only  in  the  same  way  as  furniture  exists  in  a  room,  when  no 
finite  mind  is  conscious  or  percipient  of  it.  A  coloured  expanse 
is  seen.  A  hard  object  is  touched.  A  distance  outward  is  neither 
seen  nor  touched :  it  is  foreseen.  The  distance  from  this  to  the 
sun  is  not  seen:  it  is  not  seeable  in  its  very  nature:  visual 
phenomena,  which  signify  a  really  sublime  series  of  tactual 
perceptions  and  exertions,  are  in  that  case  seen.  The  notion  (rf 
vast  outness  is  that  of  signified  (but  not  actual)  succession,  not 
of  simultaneous  sensible  existence.  Distance  outwards,  when  I 
seem  to  see  it,  has,  relatively  to  me,  the  same  sort  of  existence 
that  the  tangible  qualities  of  a  thing  have,  relatively  to  me,  when 
I  am  only  looking  at  the  thing  and  not  touching  it;  or  as  this 
planet  had  in  the  geological  period  which  preceded  all  conscious 
existence  on  the  earth  '^^^ 

The  function  of  association  in  the  discovery  of  distance  de- 
serves particular  consideration,  as  it  carries  us  into  the  deepest 
part  of  the  Berkeleian  and  of  all  philosophy.  At  this  I  venture 
next  to  look. 

D. 

Berkeleian  Intellectual  Knowledge  of  "Providential  or  Divime  ReaUtj 

and  of  ultimate  Universal  Conceptions, 

How,  according  to  Berkeley,  do  we  discover  the  external  sig- 
hification  of  what  we  see?  Why  do  we  trust  in,  and  how,  in 
the  last  analysis,  do  we  ascertain,  the  Permanence  which  gives 

^  A  yard  measure  (simultaneously  seen)  d  priori  to  all   sense  experience  as  sodu 

is    a    statical    sign    of    distance ;     but    it  The  universality  and  objectiyity  inTolTed  in 

is  only  after  trial  that  one  finds  this  out.  Berkeley's  extension  or  space  is  an  arbi- 

Kent's  prepereepHon  of  space  differs  from  trary   or    created    universality   and    objec* 

Berkeley's,   in    recognising  it  as   necessary  tivity. 


X.] 


Pkibsopky  of  Berkeley. 


403   I 


meaning  to  Visual  Language  ?   The  answer  brings  us  very  near 
hi^est  link  in  his  own  Philosophical  Chain. 

Some  critics  have,  I  think,  misconceived  him  here.  They 
have  made  him  say  that  we  owe  our  knowledgt;  of  the  language 
of  vision  to  unintelligible  Custom  and  mere  subj:;ctive  association. 
They  have  made  tlie  outgoing  of  Berkeley's  philosophy  of  sensible 
things  tlie  same  as  the  outgoing  of  Hume's  philosophy  as  a  whole, 
They  have  confounded  the  subjective  association  of  ideas— in  the 
popular  meaning  of  idea — in  the  individual,  with  the  objective  or 
univcTsaliscd  association  of  the  phenomena  which  Berkeley  calls 
sensations  or  ideas. 

An  *  association  of  ideas'  is  indeed  at  the  root  of  this  account 
of  seeing  the  distant  or  outward ;  but  when  this  is  said  we  must 
recollect  what  is  meant  by  the  *  ideas '  that  are  said  to  be  asso- 
ciated, and  also  to  what  our  trust  in  the  regularity  of  the 
association  is  attributed.  The  ideas  which  are  said  to  be  asso- 
ciated are  the  visibly  extended  and  other  phenomena  of  sense, 
which,  causally,  are  not  ours,  being  regulated  by  another  cause 
than  our  will.  Their  'associations'  are  attributed,  not  to  the 
accidents  of  custom  in  our  own  previous  experience,  but  to  the 
custom  of  the  Divine  activity,  if  one  may  say  so;  and  therefore 
to  a  custom  which  is  Reason  itself.  The  'association  of  ideas,' 
hen  *  idea '  means  this,  presupposes  the  conception  of  the 
Diverse  being  a  rational  system;  it  also  presupposes  faith  in  the 
present  and  constant  rationality  which  as  it  were  pervades  things. 
This  presupposition  is  the  life  and  soul  of  what  seems  to  me  to 
be  the  philosophy  of  sensible  things  and  of  Space.  The  pre- 
supposition of  this  rationality  is  lexically  anterior  to  our  treating 
sensations  or  ideas  of  sight,  in  the  natural  system,  as  invariable 
signs  of  sense  phenomena  given  in  touch  and  muscular  exertion. 
This  presupposition  is  in  fact  our  constructive  principle  for  the 
sensible  universe;  not  any  blindly  reached  consequences  among 
subjective  associations  derived  from  an  accidental  and  unintel- 
ligible custom.  By  Berkeley,  however,  it  must  be  added,  the 
presupposition  is  held  more  as  a  religious  instinct,  and  dogmati- 
cally, than  as  a  critically  reached  necessary  truth.  Berkeley's 
'association  of  ideas'  is  his  religious  faith  in  the  constancy  of  the 
Divine  constitution  of  the  Cosmos. 

D  d  2 


404 


Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 


[CH. 


But  the  laws  of  the  subjective  association  of  representative 
ideas,  which  are  not  sensations,  and  habit  (the  blindly  generated 
result  of  this  association),  have  also  an  important  place  in  the 
theory  of  visual  language.  These  do  not  originate  the  notion 
of  sensations  as  significant,  nor  our  belief  in  that  invariableness  of 
relation  which  forms  their  significance.  Yet  they  help  us  to 
recollect  the  meaning  of  each  particular  sensation^  and  connect 
the  signs  with  their  significations  in  our  imagination.  An  ob- 
jective— that  is,  a  universal  and  invariable — relation  of  sen- 
sations is  the  basis  and  the  one  cohesive  principle  of  the  theory : 
subjective  association  among  the  txtma  of  past  sensations,  in  the 
individual  imagination,  is  also  an  important  part  of  the  structure. 

This  last  wc^-ks  according  to  the  analogy  of  association  in  artifi- 
cial language.  The  divinely  established  associations,  in  sensation, 
between  what  we  see  and  what  we  touch,  practically  suggest  the 
tactual  meaning  when  one  observes  the  mere  visual  sign ;  in  the 
same  manner  as  in  artificial  language,  we  dispense  with  the 
meaning,  and  substitute  the  sign,  imagining  only  the  sign,  while 
hardly  conscious  of  the  meaning  signified  ^. 

The  analogy  of  artificial  language  further  illustrates  the  cause 
of  this  tendency  to  think  of  distances,  and  in  general  of  ambient 
space  and  its  contents,  by  means  of  their  visible  signs  alone. 
Like  many  meanings  which  are  ratified  and  expressed  by  words, 
distances  cannot  be  imagined  except  in  their  visible  signs.  In 
the  same  way  as  one  cannot  carry  on  trains  of  reasoning  without 
the  help  of  words,  it  is  hardly  possible  to  conceive  distances, 
except  in  and  through  their  language.  Those  bom  blind  are  thus 
very  inadequately  able  to  conceive  space,  or  trinal  extension. 
They  hardly  rise  above  a  dark  notion  of  another  cause-r— another 
efficient  mind.  They  have  no  natural  language  to  symbolise 
externality  ^^ 


^  In  what  has  been  called  sjrmbolical,  in 
contrast  with  intnitive,  knowledge. 

'*  So  Platner's  observations  on  the  bom 
blind,  quoted  by  Hamilton.  The  atten- 
tive observation  of  a  person  born  blind 
convinced  Platner  that  a  man  destitute  of 
light  *has  absolutely  no  perception  of  an 
outer  world,  beyond  the  mere  existence  of 
tometbing  effective,  different  from  his  own 
feeling  of  passivity.     In  fact,  to  those  bom 


blind,  time  serves  instead  of  space.'  I  add 
the  following  by  a  subtle  thinker  already 
more  than  once  referred  to : — 

*■  The  idea  we  have  of  space,  and  what  we 
call  by  that  name,  is  only  coloured  space, 
and  is  entirely  taken  out  of  the  mind,  if 
colour  be  taken  away.  And  so  aH  that  we 
call  extension,  motion,  and  figure  is  gone,  if 
colour  is  gone.  As  to  any  idea  of  space; 
extension,  distance,  or  motion,  that  a  man 


Philosophy  of  Berkeley. 


405  I 


Objections  to  the  theory  of  vision  have  bceo  directed  against 
this  particular  part  of  it.  It  is  said  that  the  laws  of  mental  asso- 
ciations are  not  fit  to  form  the  habit,  or  to  teach  us  the  language 
formed  by  the  invariable  relations  between  the  visible  and  the 
tangible,  Berkeley  says  that  we  iearn  this  language — which  he  re- 
ligiously presumes  to  be  latent  in  the  sensation  world — by  custom 
and  association,  which  generate  habit ;  in  the  same  way  that  we 
learn  the  meanings  signified  by  the  words  of  a  new  artificial  lan- 
guage. Some  of  his  critics  seem  to  ai^e  that  the  language  cannot 
be  learnt  by  custom  and  gradual  experience  at  all,  but  that  we 
must  have  a  sort  of  instinctive  or  inspired  knowledge  of  the 
invariable  relations  between  those  sights  which  are  significant  of 
outness,  and  the  outness  which  they  signify.  They  thus  take  away 
what,  if  a  real,  is  a  curious  and  beautiful  illustration  of  the  in- 
fluence of  custom,  and  of  the  laws  of  mental  association ;  and 
they  do  so  on  the  ground,  one  supposes,  that  association  can  be 
proved  to  be  not  sufficient  to  account  for  the  result.  For,  the 
question  is.  Do  we  have  enough  of  association  between  visible 
percepts  and  their  tactual  meaning,  to  explain  the  tendency  of 
the  former  to  suggest  the  latter,  or  to  stand  as  substitutes  fisr  the 
latter — on  the  ordinary  principles  of  mental  association  which  are 
illustrated  in  learning  and  using  an  artificial  language?  1  see  no 
sufficient  reason  fi^r  answering  this  question  in  the  negative  ■'^, 

The  chief  difficulty  in  the  way  of  accounting,  by  custom  and 
association,  for  our  seemingly  instinctive  power  of  interpreting 
the   particular  signs  of  distances,    is   the   wonderfiil   speed   and 

exict  and  ptcciK,  and  pctfcctljr  iiibig  Idea 
in  Gtxl'f  mind,  loj^cther  with  hit  liable 
Will,  that  the  umc  ihall  giaduiUy  be  com- 
municated to  Ui,  and  to  ollieF  mindi,  accord- 
tug  to  fixed  and  eiacl  eitiblithei!  method! 
»nd  laws.'— R«nar*i  in  Metual  Pbiloa^, 
by  Jonathan  Edwards. 

"  Berkeley,  by  the  way.  cren  in  hii  eir- 
lieit  philoiDphical  work,  tecognitei  ntteaily 
in  Ihe  lelalioni  of  penpectiTc,  Wben  be  » 
proving  thai  we  do  not,  by  ibe  lawi  in 
oplici,  or  by  malbematical  reuooinj^  djt' 
cover  ODtneB,  be  gianlt  that,  when  expe- 
rience hai  given  Dl  the  knowledge  of  dli- 
lancet,  we  can  retclve  the  penpeclive  Linet 
malhemilicatly,  and  with  a  DDiioa  of  their 
ncceuity.  Cf.  Biiey  (nninA  a  Nne  Thtarf 
0/  Vi«on.  Kct.  fi. 


and  sodl.  Artd  as  lo  the  idea  ■ 
llut  (tKb  a  one  coold  have,  it 
only  a  divenificitHMi  of  ihotc  (uce 
a  (cmin  way,  by  tucccuion  ai  lo  t 
And.  u  it  it  veij  plain  colour  it  o 
mind,  and  nothing  like  it  cm  be  i 

noltiing  hlce  Ihoie  thingi  we  cail  bj  the 
name  of  bodiet  out  of  the  mind,  unle«  it  be 
in  •omc  olbcr  mind  or  mindi.  And,  indeed, 
the  leciet  lie*  here- — That  whidi  truly  it 
U  bndiet  i>  the  infinitely 


4o6  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch, 

perfection  with  which  the  lesson  is  learnt.  All  men  learn  to 
interpret  the  language  of  vision  so  early  and  so  well,  that  it  seems 
necessary  to  refer  the  lesson  to  an  original  instinct,  whidi,  in 
the  case  of  this  natural  language,  so  connects  the  signs  with  their 
meanings,  that  the  born  blind,  when  first  made  to  see,  can,  it  is 
presumed,  mt  once  render  back  the  sights  into  their  own  previous 
tactual  and  locomotive  sensations^.  In  short,  it  is  plausibly 
argued,  and  from  Berkeley's  own  point  of  view,  that  God  not 
only  uses  the  visual  language,  but,  by  the  inspiration  of  an* 
instinct,  teaches  each  man  spontaneously  to  understand  it — 
thus  enabling  him  at  once,  without  any  inductive  comparison,  or 
even  repeated  association,  of  the  two  correlatives,  to  read  tactual 
or  locomotive  meaning  in  the  visual  symbol. 

After  all,  however,  the  grander  conception  in  the  New  Theory 
is,  that  sensations  art  a  language;  not  that  we  discover  then- 
meaning,  or  externalize  certain  of  them,  in  a  particular  manner 
— by  custom  and  mental  association,  for  instance,  rather  than 
by  an  original  instinct.  The  associative,  as  distinguished  from 
the  instinctive,  manner  of  beginning  to  understand  the  language 
of  the  phenomena  of  sense  is  no  doubt  maintained  by  Berkeley. 
But  his  here  implied  (deeper)  doctrine  is— that  no  experience  or 
association  could  teach  us  the  language  without  the  fresuppositum 
on  our  part,  that  the  sensible  world  //  interpretable,  //  the  expres- 
sion of  Divine  meanings  externalized  in  its  laws  •'J*. 

On  what  this  presupposition,  which  infuses  meaning  or  univer- 
sality into  what  we  see,  originally  rests,  is  a  profound  inquiry, 
which  carries  the  inquirer  into  the  heart  of  the  theory  of  the 
inductive  interpretation  of  nature.  Is  all  inference  about  facts 
originally  due  to  custom  and  subjective  association  ;  or,  on  the 
contrary,  do  we  originally  so  participate  in  the  archetypal  Reason 
as  to  be  led  to  connect  in  invariable  relations  phenomena  that 
are  unlike — tactual  and  visual  ones,  for  instance— and  is  it  thus 
that  we  are  enabled  to  form  real  (not  merely  verbal)  propositions 
about  them?  Do  we  gradually  learn  nature's  language,  through 
blind  processes  of  internal  association;  or,  are  the  initial  steps 

"  Contrary  to  Mol3meux*s  solution  of  his  to  contradict  this.     But,  on  the  nature  of 

own  problem.     See  Locke,  Essay,  Bk.  II.  *  instinct/  cf.  a  pregnant  passage  in  Sim, 

ch.  9.  sect.  357. 

^  The  case  of  the  lower  animals  is  said 


X.] 


Philosophy  of  Bcrkeky. 


4071 


the  result,  not  of  merely  associative  laws,  but  of  a  sort  of  inborn  | 
instinct,  through  which  we  in  a  sort  share  in  the  Divine  Reason  ?  ] 
Perhaps  the  most  important  subject  in  all  philosophical  inquiry  ii 
the  real  action  of  the  human  mind  in  induction^*,  and  the  reason  | 
of  the  certainty  we  attach  to  the  process  of  discovering  truth. 
Now,  it  is  '  in  the  writings  of  Berkeley,'  as  Archer  Butler  remarks, 
'  that  we  are  to  look  for  the  first  exposition  of  those  acute  and 
important  reasonings  which  may  be  said  in  these  latter  days  to 
have  reduced  the  broad  practical  monitions  of  Lord  Bacon  to  their 
metaphysical  principles.    *   ♦    The  clue  which  must  be  followed,   1 
if  we  will  penetrate  the  mazes  of  hidden  truth,  is  interwoven  in   > 
the  very  texture  of  his  philosophy ;  on  every  other  system  we  may 
go  astray  in  our  pursuit  of  natural  knowledge — it  is  almost  im- 
possible to  go  astray  on  his.     Without  affirming  anything  with 
regard  to  the  absolute  truth  of  his   ultimate  deductions,  we   do 
maintain  that  this  relative  merit — and  what  merit  is  more  ad-   ' 
mirable  ? — must  at  least  be  conceded  to  the  philosophy  of  Berkeley.   I 
Tbt  true  logic  of  Phyiics  is  the  prst  eondusion  from  bis  system  ^f*.' 

The  inveriableiiess  of  the  successions  and  co-cxistcnccs  rf  I 
sensations  is  what,  according  to  Berkeley,  developes  space,  and 
makes  sensations  a  language^  and  an  arbitrarily  established  in> 
variableness  is,  he  means  to  say,  the  only  sort  of  causal  relation 
that  can  exist  among  the  phenomena  m  sense.  Causality  in  the 
material  world  is,  accordingly,  neither  more  nor  lest  than  re- 
gularity of  succession.  There  is  no  ctScicncy  within  the  vast 
organization  of  sensible  things.  One  sort  of  sensible  pheno- 
menon is,  as  an  established  fact,  the  constant  companion  of 
another  sort  of  sensible  phenomenon ;  and  this  is  only  other- 
wise expressed  wlien  it  is  said  that  the  one  is  the  sign  of  the 
other.  Thus,  all  the  so-called  causality  of  the  material  world 
resolves  into  an  established  significance  of  physical  facts.     This 


**  All  mniphTtical  phifoiOfAy  tvm  ma 
Iw  regaided  11  of  the  natnrt  of  inductio] 
when  induction  it  compiebmurelj  coi 
ceited.  Whii  iie  the  loccaiivc  phjlou 
phical  (yitcms  but  itttmpti  !□  find  whi 
that  nllimate  Cimception  ii  which  idmiti  < 
vcTificilioa  by  the  bc)i  of  experience,  an 
which  rendert  thei«  licit  diunilely  <■ 
Btetaphyiically  inlelliglble  inij  teuonrd 
MF*''"''""*'  indiiclion  doei  nc 


riie  »  high  ai  thii.  It  ii  a  itmggle  ts  iden- 
tiry  cur  gcnetaliicd  and  lenbiive  concep- 
tion! wilh  the  contlilutive  thooghlt  of  Qod 
that  ire  inyolved  in  |4iyiicil  Uw.  Inductive 
logic  coniittt  of  melhodi  for  hiimoniiing 
humin  thought!  wilb  (he  ihoDghlt  that  me 
imonJy  called  liwi 

I.  VIL 


4o8  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ca 

Berkeley  refuses  to  regard  as  proper  causality.  The  philosophical 
craving  for  a  cause  is  a  necessary  principle  which,  he  would  say, 
carries  us  beyond  sensations  altogether,  for  the  explanation  of 
that  sense  symbolism  in  which  materialists  suppose  they  have  the 
only  true  causality  or  power.  An  inert,  unintelligent  cause  is  for 
him  no  cause,  but  a  contradiction  in  terms.  Mind  is  the  only 
possible  power,  and  the  established  cdierences  of  sensible  [dieno- 
mena,  as  well  as  each  separate  sensation,  are  all  manifestations 
and  effects  of  Supreme  Universalizing  Mind. 

This  resolution  of  physical  causality  into  bare  invariableness  of 
co-existence  and  succession  is  now  a  familiar  analysis,  in  the 
modem  account  of  the  objects  and  limits  of  all  purely  physical  in- 
quiry. It  is  in  the  centre  of  the  physical  philosophy  of  Hume,  and 
has  flowed  from  thence  into  the  Baconian  stream,  purifying  the 
waters.  *  If,'  says  Hume,  *  we  reason  h  friorij  anything  may  appear 
able  to  produce  anything.  The  falling  of  a  pebble  may,  for  aught 
we  know,  extinguish  the  sun;  or  the  wish  of  a  man  control  the 
planets  in  their  orbits  ^7.*  This  is  Berkeley's  meaning,  in  other 
language — so  far  as  sensations  and  natural  causes  are  concerned ; 
for  these  are  merely  passive,  and  are  connected  with  their  so-called 
effects  without  any  intention  or  effbrt  of  their  own  j  and  without 
any  uncreated  necessity  in  the  nature  of  things,  since  their  rela- 
tions with  one  another  may  be  imagined  by  us  to  be  quite  diflferent 
from  what  they  actually  are.  Hume  and  Berkeley  are  at  one  in 
regard  to  the  connexions  among  physical  things,  and  also  among 
the  phenomena  of  which  they  are  composed,  being  unnecessitated, 
and  discoverable  only  by  observation  and  experiment. 

But  they  differ  in  this: — 

The  established  relations  of  the  unnecessitated  universe  of  sen- 
sations, or  physical  phenomena,  are,  Hume  would  say,  the  one  and 
only  causality  that  exists :  it  is  absurd  to  inquire  ivhy  these  in- 
variable relations  are  thus  invariable:  we  must  take  them  as 
an  absolutely  unintelligible  Custom  has  given  them;  and  we  must, 
above  all,  include  what  we  call  ourselves  and  our  own  volitions, 

^  Essays,  vol.  II.  p.  i66,  'On  the  Aca*  recognition  of  abstract  and  necessary  rea* 

demical  and  Sceptical  Philosophy.'     Hume,  soning  concerning  quantity  and  number.    Sec 

by  the  way,  often  approaches  Kant  in  what  sects.  4  and  i  a  of  his  Imqmry,  and  the  7Vwa> 

he  says  about  relations  0/  ideas,  as  distin-  tise  of  Human  Nature,     This  is  well  put  in 

guished  from  matters  of  fact;   and  in  his  Stirling's  Secret  of  Hegd,  toI.  U.  p.  15. 


xj 


Philosophy  of  Berkeley. 


409 


US  a  portion  of  that  physical  system  which  is  co-extensive  with 
and  constitutes  all  that  exists. 

The  established  relations  of  the  unneccssitated  universe  of  phy- 
sical phenomena,  Berkeley  would  say,  on  the  contrary,  are  not 
causal  relations  at  all :  there  is  no  causality  within  this  sense 
symbolism,  taken /■»•  st.  Yet  there  not  only  is,  but  there  must  be, 
he  would  add,  something  more  than  this,  to  account  for  even  this: 
the  established  coherence  of  the  universe,  as  well  as  the  units 
coherently  connected,  are  necessarily'*"  dependent  upon  acting  and 
intending  Intelligence.  Causality,  he  implies,  is  a  necessary 
relation:  it  is  exemplified,  however,  not  in  the  blind  customary 
interrelations  of  sensible  phenomena,  but  in  the  dependence  of  the 
j^enomena,  and  their  relations  or  customs  too,  upon  Mind,  by 
whose  design  and  constant  acting  they  are  all  maintained  "J.  The 
causal  judgment  is,  with  Berkeley,  a  necessary  judgment ;  but  it 
docs  not  mean  (as  with  Kant,  for  instance)  necessary  succession 
among  phenomena.  It  means  the  necessary  dependence  of  the 
constant  customs  of  succession  and  co-existence  among  pheno- 
mena upon  Supreme  Rational  Will.  The  necessity  for  a  cause  is, 
in  other  words,  the  necessity  for  Deity — for  the  Divine  Reason 
in  which  human  reason  participates,  and  in  which  philosophical 
curiosity  is  satisfied. 

Their  respective  notions  of  causality  might  be  made  the  testing 
point  in  a  critical  comparison  of  the  three  great  philosophies  and 
philosophical  thinkers  of  the  eighteenth  century — Berkeley,  Hume, 
and  Kant.  Hume,  as  we  know,  first  awoke  Kant  out  of  his  'der- 
matic slumber,'  and  was  the  indirect  occasion  of  that  analysis  of 
the  constitutive  notions  of  the  understanding,  and  regulative  ideas 
of  reason,  and  of  that  announcement  of  the  moral  presumption 
favour  of  human  freedom,  human  immortality,  and  the  ex- 
istence of  God,  which  flow  from  the  speculative  and  practical 
criticism  of  Kant. 

■  I  By  ■  oecnurily,'  for  Bcikcky,  though 
be  ilmfi  looki  at  pawct  in  the  CDimcte 
'  -  ,  rinual]}>  tiQU  hii  cauul  aHumption 
nttUBiy  principle  of  iatelligcnce.  In 
fid  CaoDlily  ii  the  citegoiy  (to  to  ipok) 
bjr  mani  of  which  he  eipliiiu  exletiulil)'. 
■Dd  the  pemuncnce  01  reality  of  the  rcla- 


•  Theic 


It  miracle.  If  we  mean  by 


only  (which  we  hare  no  right  to  do) 
an  event  canted  by  the  immediate  orderly 
acliviljr  of  God.  The  'nee  Deni  iiitenit' 
is  pTeaed  ai  an  objection  to  the  Ber' 
keleian  lenie  lymboliun  by  Hamilton,  in  a 
teller  to  Mr.  CoUyiu  Simon,  the  eminent 
author  of  Umvmal  Immauriaiism.  See 
le  thing!.  the  coirspondence  in  Profeuoi  Veilch't  ex- 

ith  Berkeley,       celleni  Miimir  0/  Sir  W.  HamilroH.    pp. 


I 
I 


4IO  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

Attention  to  the  respective  positions  of  the  three,  in  the  con- 
catenation of  modem  thought,  makes  Berkeley's  fiinction  more 
distinct. 

The  Universe  {to  wav),  and  not  merely  the  sense-given  part 
of  it,  according  to  Hume,  is  entirely  composed  of  phenomena, 
or  what  he  calls  <  impressions,' — conscious  human  beings  in- 
cluded. The  experience  of  all  men  has  given  these  phenomena 
in  hitherto  invariable  relations,  which  can  be  analysed  into  those 
of  co-existence  and  succession.  This  fzct  has  blindly  produced 
an  expectation  that  they  will  continue  to  succeed  one  another 
in  a  similar  invariable  order.  Their  customs  of  succession  and 
co-existence  have  produced  a  habit  of  expectation — a  sort  of 
spurious  necessity,  which  makes  us  look  for  some  preceding 
phenomenon  as  the  virtually  necessary  condition  of  each  new 
phenomenon '•o.  Custom  thus  forms  in  us  the  craving  for  some 
phenomenon  preceding,  on  occasion  of  any  new  event  hap- 
pening. Custom  hinders  us  from  being  satisfied  with  the  bare 
fact  of — something  happening.  And,  in  so  hindering  us,  it 
serves,  according  to  Humism  and  Positivism,  a  useful  prac- 
tical purpose.  We  seem  to  be  part  of  a  universe  of  phenomena 
which  are,  at  least  in  the  meantime,  if  not  absolutely  or  uni- 
versally, connected  in  orderly  relations  to  one  another;  present 
happiness  is,  accordingly,  dependent  on  knowing  what  these  or- 
derly relations  have  been.  It  seems  well  for  our  happiness^  that 
the  past  custom  of  the  universe  has  tended  to  form  this  habit  of 
expectation — this  spurious  necessity  for  expecting  what  we  call 
'  effects,'  and  for  assuming  what  we  call  '  causes.'  It  is  impos- 
sible, on  this  philosophy  of  ultimately  unintelligible  pan-phenome- 
nalism, to  find  any  explanation  of  *why  we  find  ourselves  units  in  a 
universe  of  this  sort ;  nor  indeed  have  we  any  right  to  apply  our 
custom-generated  craving  for  causes  so  far  as  this.  The  human 
nature  of  Hume  is  too  slight  and  shallow  for  this  deep  inquiry. 
The  fact  that  the  phenomenal  universe  has  been  coherent  is  a 
*  singular'  sort  of  effect,  if  it  is  to  be  called  an  effect  at  all,  this 


"*  Of  course,  under  Hume's  philosophy  nature,  or  the  existence  of  Supreme  Mind — 

there  can  be  no  absolute  necessity  for  or  at  the  most  there  is  only  the  blindly  gene- 

':tgainst  anything — for  or  against  the  con-  rated,   spurious  necessity    of    unintdligible 

tinuance  or  an  interruption  of  the  laws  of  custom. 


cj 


Philosophy  of  Berkeley. 


411 


philoso[^y  says:  it  transcends  those  customary  connexions  in  the 
past  which  have  produced  our  habit  of  putting  scientific  questions: 
this  apparent  custom  of  orderly  and  invariable  connectedness 
practically  justiBes  our  present  reliance  on  it  —  for  alt  secular 
affairs,  and  in  physical  science.  But  we  must  not  try  to  become 
metaphysical,  by  asking  why  the  relations  of  phenomena  have 
been  what  they  have  been,  and  what  in  consequence  we  expect 
them  still  to  be.  We  must  take  them  as  they  have  been,  and 
yield  to  the  habit  which  this  past  has  formed.  A  priori^  no  one 
phenomenon  is  more  rationally  related  to  another  than  any  third 
one  might  be.  Anything  appears  able  to  produce  anything.  And 
to  ask  why  Nature  possesses  the  coherence  and  consistency  which 
wc  act  upon  is  an  absurd  question  —  especially  for  one  of  the 
phenomena  themselves  to  put.  Let  us,  for  practical  purposes, 
make  the  supposition  which  the  habit  due  to  a  mysterious  Custom 
has  induced.  Let  us  exhaust,  if  we  can,  the  resources  for  happi- 
ness which  seem  to  open  to  us  when  wc  proceed  to  deal  with  things 
upon  this  ultimately  unintelligible  assumption.  To  do  this  is  the 
sum  of  human  duty.  Supernatural  questions  about  the  origin, 
ultimate  meaning,  and  eternal  issues  of  this  present  Phenomenal 
Oistom,  lead,  as  far  as  philosophy  is  ctmccrned,  only  to  sophistry 
and  illusion.  Such  is  the  issue  of  the  Humist  and  Positivist 
analysis  of  Existence— not  merely  of  sensible  existence,  to  which 
Berkeley  confined  himself.  This  is  Scepticism  taking  revenge 
upon  the  Beikeleian  paralysis  of  Materialism  and  Fatalism.  Being 
nr  Existence  is  professedly  emptied,  under  it,  of  all  proper  sub- 
stance and  power. 

The  negative  philosophical  conception  which  constitutes  the 
Humist  and  Positivist  conception  of  the  universe  is  said  to  satisfy 
some.  Probably  Berkeley's  simple,  ardent,  and  believing  spirit 
had  not  enough  of  the  (valuable)  preparatory  mental  discipline  of 
Scepticism  to  enable  him  to  enter  into  it.  He  lived  before 
Hume.  Otherwise  bis  philosophical  life  and-its  results  might 
have  run  deeper,  and  his  philosophy  might  not  so  readily  have 
seemed  (as  it  has  to  some  of  his  critics)  to  resolve  itself  into 
this: — that  the  entire  Universe  consists  of  mt  and  my  inttmal 
seniations.  His  philosophy  might  then  have  contained  a  more 
thorough  and  distinct  unfolding  of  the  principles  of  rationality 
which  connect  the  Infinite  Whole  of  concrete  existence  with  *me' 


412  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

and  <my'  sensations,  principles  in  which  originate  the  permanence 
or  objectivity  of  which  sensations  in  themselves  are  destitute. 

Kant  tried  to  go  deeper  than  Hume,  in  order  to  restore  know- 
ledge and  belief  on  the  basis,  not  of  transient  feeling,  but  of 
thought  and  necessary  universality.  Sensations  and  their  cus- 
toms— productive  of  a  useful  human  habit  of  expectation — the 
expectation,  in  the  circumstances,  as  reasonable  as  man  is  fit 
for — this,  I  think,  is,  on  the  whole,  Hume's  account  of  our 
knowledge  and  of  existence.  But  this  does  not  correspond,  in 
Kant's  insight,  to  the  very  experience  which  it  pretends  to 
give  the  last  account  of.  There  is  an  element  of  gtmmu  ne- 
cessity and  universality  wrapped  up  within  experience,  whidi 
Humism  makes  away  with.  In  this  omitted  element  Kant 
finds  the  explanation  of  externality  and  science.  Without  this 
omitted  universality  and  necessity  he  can  see  no  objectivity  to 
be  possible :  science  dissolves  into  isolated  sensations :  it  becomes 
shifting  feeling.  Objectivity  requires  an  intellectual  or  necessary 
element,  even  in  our  very  sense  experience ;  and  this  Hume  had 
overlooked.  Accordingly,  the  chief  work  of  Kanf s  life  was  to 
explain  the  coherency  of  the  sensible  universe — and  man's  moral 
freedom  from  nature — by  this  neglected  element.  A  scholasti- 
cally  elaborated  substitution  of  intellectual  instead  of  custemuarj 
coherence  in  experience  is  Kant's  contribution  in  the  reactionary 
succession  to  Hume.  Kanfs  experience,  like  Hume's  and  Ber- 
keley's, takes  phenomena  or  sensations  for  its  matter;  yet  its  form 
or  coherence  is  derived  not  from  mere  Custom — which  is  another 
name  for  the  darkness  of  ignorance — but  fir)m  universal  notions 
of  Understanding.  Experience  is  thus  professedly  analysed  into 
meaning^  instead  of  being  thrown  back  upon  the  unmtelUpUe.  It 
is  intellectually  impossible,  according  to  this  critical  philosophy, 
for  any  experience  at  all  to  exist  in  which  there  are  no  universal- 
izing principles  of  connexion.  We  find  proof  that  this  is  so  when 
we  make  the  trial.  We  find,  for  instance,  that  changing  sensations 
cannot  conceivably  become  the  experience  we  are  conscious  of, 
unless  they  are  referred  to  a  principle  of  permanence  called  Sub- 
stance ;  and  we  also  find  that  changes  of  any  sort  cannot,  in  like 
manner,  become  part  of  our  experience,  except  as  they  are  conceived 
to  be  dependent  on  preceding  conditions,  discoverable  by  subse- 


xj 


Philosophy  of  Berkeley. 


413 


quent  experience,  which  conditions  we  call  their  Cause.  This 
sort  of  substantiality  and  causality,  which  is  too  abstract  for 
Berkeley,  is  thus  held  to  be  necessary  to  the  possibility  of  any 
mental  citperience,  and  not  to  be  blindly  formed  by  the  customs 
of  each  man's  particular  experience  in  an  inexplicable  mortal  life. 
Later  German  philosophy  goes  on  to  show  why  these  (and  other) 
intellectual  conditions  must  be  involved  in  all  possible  experience, 
forming  the  Divine,  Absolute,  Uncreated  Essence  of  the  universe 
in  which,  as  intellectual  beings,  we  participate.  With  Plato  too, 
in  a  long  past  age,  the  Universal  was  the  only  reality,  and  the 
particular  phenomenon  was  real  only  by  participation  in  the  Uni- 
versal— by  its  relation  to  Intelligence.  Berkeley  came  very  much 
to  this  in  the  end,  in  SlrU ;  but  in  his  early  philosophy  his  war 
against  abstract  ideas  (i.  e.  abstract  physical  phenomena) — in  which 
sometimes  his  words  seem  almost  to  make  the  phenomenon  the 
only  reality,  and  not  merely  the  only  physical  reality — and  his  ten- 
dency to  test  everything  by  sensations  or  matters  of  fact,  keeps  in 
the  background  those  Universals,  or  Notions  of  the  Mind,  that^ 
'  inunutably  luirive, 


Foi  our  lupport.  the  meaiure 

and  the  forms 

Which  ».  .bnnct  intelligenc 

.uppliei; 

Whow  kingdom  ii,  where  li 

Tie  .»d  q«ce  « 

It  was  the  dependence  of  external  existence  upon  Sensation,  rather 
than  the  dependence  of  ail   particular  existence  upon  the  Uni-   ; 
venalising  Intelligence,  that  he  at  first  chiefly  insisted  on. 

It  is  more  difficult,  indeed  almost  impossible,  to  compare  the  I 
concrete  spiritual  philosophy  of  Berkeley  with  the  very  different 
point  of  view  which  later  German  philosophy  occupies.  His 
Theological  or  Universalised  Sensationalism  is  even  opposite  to 
the  Subjective  Idealism  of  Fichce.  German  speculation,  in  Kant 
and  in  Hegel,  in  reasoning  out  what  Berkeley  left  vague,  has 
forsaken  his  concrete  and  practical  idealism.  Grant  that  it  has 
discovered  an  intellectually  coherent  experience,  instead  of  Hume's 
habit  of  expectation  blindly  generated  by  custom.  In  doing  so,  it 
has  given  the  Uncreated  Conditions  to  which  all  actual  or  con- 
scious experience  (if  there  happens  to  be  any)  must  conform, 
and  under  which  it  must  all  be  intelligibly  concatenated.  But 
why  does  the  concrete  phenomenal  world,  which  is  connected  or  I 
made  coherent  by  these  pervading  relations,  start  into  phenomenal 


414  I^if^  ^^^  Letters  of  Berkeley.  [ch. 

existence  at  all^  and  why  do  we  begin  to  exist  as  persons  who 
are  percipient  of  it?  What  set  the  movement  a-going,  which 
is  constituted  by  these  uncreated  necessary  relations;  and  what 
now  keeps  it  going  ? 

The  Hegelian  might  perhaps  answer.  This  is  asking  what  set 
God  a-going,  and  what  keeps  Him  in  active  thought.  The  intel- 
lectual necessities  of  Being  constitute  His  essence,  and  that  of 
Nature  and  of  the  Spirits  which  participate  in  Being.  But  it 
may  still  be  asked,  What  of  the  contingencies  in  existence  ?  Why 
are  sensible  things  composed  of  five  kinds  of  sensation  rather 
than  of  five  hundred ;  and  why  am  I  myself^  and  not  some  other 
person,  or  absorbed  in  the  Supreme  Unity  ?  The  philosophy  which 
critically  unfolds  the  web  of  necessary  thought — ^the  complexus  of 
Reason — even  if  it  successfully  unravels  that  web,  and  enables  us 
to  see  the  universe  necessarily  coherent  in  Hs  coherency,  still 
leaves  unsettled  the  most  interesting  questions  which  the  universe 
presses  upon  us,  when  the  universe  is  looked  at  from  the  human 
and  practical  (which  was  Berkeley's)  point  of  view — the  moral 
existence  of  God,  combined  with  the  immortality  of  men.  What 
more  does  it  determine  about  the  answers  to  the  last  than  Ber- 
keley's reductio  ad  ahsurdum  of  Abstract  Matter  does,  or  even  than 
Hume's  mysterious  Custom  ?  Kant's  criticism  of  pure  under- 
standing thrown  in  among  the  *  impressions'  of  Hume,  merely 
gives  them  intellectual  coherence. 

Berkeley's  philosophy  is  more  immediately  human  than  this, 
if  far  less  intellectually  thorough.  It  combines  throughout  what 
Kant  severed  from  the  beginning.  The  moral  presumption  of 
(;ur  individual  free  and  proper  agency  is  obscurely  involved  in 
Berkeley's  philosophy  of  Sense  from  the  first :  without  it  his  whole 
philosophy  would  dissolve  in  subjective  sensationalism.  In  the 
dualism  to  which  he  leads,  we  are  aware  even  in  sensation  that 
sensation  is  not  subject  to  us,  and  that  we  are  not  subject  to  it 
The  sensations  or  phenomena  which  we  perceive  are  discerned  to 
be  ours,  because  they  need  our  sense- percipiency  j  and  not  ours, 
for  we  are  not  their  cause,  nor  responsible  for  their  existence,  as 
we  are  for  our  own  actions,  which  we  create.  Sensations  are 
outside  the  circle  of  our  personal  responsibility.  The  antithesis 
of  sensibility  and  moral  agency,  which  we  find  in  Kant  at  last, 
runs,  in  an  indistinct  and  fluctuating  way,  through  Berkeley  from 


X.] 


Philosophy  of  Berkehy. 


415 


the  beginning.  He  in  his  own  way  combines  the  sensibility 
and  the  free-will  of  Kant — the  'matter'  given  to  his  specula- 
tive reason,  and  the  moral  presumption  of  his  practical  reason. 
Perception  in  Berkeley  thus  uncritically  envelopes  the  two  ex- 
treme parts  of  Kantianism — the  S:nsibilicy,  and  the  Practical 
Reason.  Kant's  intermediate  theory  of  constitutive  notions  of  | 
the  understanding,  and  regulative  ideas  of  reason  is  also  roughly 
represented*'  in  Berkeley's  early  theological  sensationalism,  and 
still  more  in  his  contrast,  in  Sir/r,  between  mere  S^nse  and 
Reason.  The  Kantian,  or  later  German,  theory  of  place  being 
a  perception,  necessarily  implied  in,  and  explanatory  of,  the 
externality  of  sensible  things  is,  however,  foreign  to  Berkeley, 
with  whom  'ambient  space'  is  as  much  created  and  dependent, 
and  involved  in  the  flux  of  sensations,  as  the  sensible  world  itself  j 
— for  which  world,  indeed,  space  is  merely  a  general  expression.  . 
The  reader  may  work  out  the  comparison  in  detail^recoUecting 
that  Berkeley's  philosophy  is  not  'critical'  in  its  execution, 
or  in  its  original  conception.  But  it  will  yet  clear  itself  from 
misconceptions,  and  its  author  will  take  his  place  as  the  most 
subtle  thinker  of  the  eighteenth  century. 


Shit  was  the  philosophical  production  of  Berkeley's  old  age. 
But  he  was  really  all  his  life  constructing  a  philosophical  chain 
which  connects  the  phenomena  of  which  we  are  conscious  with 
the  Reality  of  Supreme  Mind.  In  his  argumentative  youth,  as 
well  as  in  his  contemplative  old  age,  he  was  showing  how  the 
^miliar  perceptions  of  our  daily  life  in  the  five  senses  are  found 
by  reflection  to  involve  the  deepest  human  problems — awakening 
the  dormant  intuition,  that  we  are  living,  and  moving,  and 
having  our  being  in  Mind.  With  all  this,  it  may  be  allowed 
that,  though  he  unfolds  his  thought,  and  defends  it  against  ob- 
jections, with  singular  acuteness  and  ingenuity,  the  philosophy 
wants  in  his  hands  the  sublimity  and  strength  which  we  have 
in  the  productions  of  Piato,  and  in  some  moderns.  To  the 
Teutonic  intellect,  his  life-long  exposition  of  his  thought  probably 


ally  . 


mpl  dihn.  by  ra 


01  Hibtlantial  pcrman 


41 6  Life  and  Letters  of  Berkeley. 

seems  wanting  in  penetration  and  thoroughness.  He  answers, 
with  much  adroitness,  indeed,  the  common  objections  to  his  own 
account  of  what  the  material  world  and  its  causation  mean; 
but  it  may  be  granted  that  one  occasionally  feels  in  inter- 
course with  him  a  want  of  the  intellectual  momentum  needed 
for  carrying  a  great  [^losophical  conception  into  the  heart  of 
the  world's  thinking.  We  are  sometimes  apt  to  be  more  amused 
by  the  dextrous  defence,  than  to  have  our  convictions  profoundly 
influenced.  But  we  must  not  forget  the  modesty  of  his  intention* 
^  I  had  no  inclination/  he  says  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Johnson, 
*to  trouble  the  world  with  large  volumes.  What  I  have  done 
was  rather  with  the  view  of  giving  hints  to  thinking  men,  who 
have  leisure  and  curiosity  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  things,  and 
pursue  them  in  their  own  minds.' 

Perhaps  what  some  may  feel  to  be  least  satisfying  in  Berkeley's 
Theism  is,  its  too  exclusive  reference  to  our  sense  experience, 
instead  of  to  our  moral  experience — an  inclination  to  gratify  the 
vulgar  demand  for  a  visible  God,  with  the  background  of  mystery 
withdrawn,  instead  of  the  moral  reserve  of  the  Deus  ahscomdhus 
of  Pascal,  or  the  awful  categorical  imperative  of  Kant.  An  in- 
tellectual solution  of  the  whole  problem  of  Existence  has  hitherto, 
I  suppose,  evaded  the  intelligence  of  the  race  of  man.  We  still 
need  to  be  told  that  we  ought  to  live  the  absolutely  good,  even 
although  we  may  not  reach  the  perfect  philosophical  conception 
of  the  Universe,  and  of  our  own  destiny  in  it.  But  of  the  various 
imperfect  thoughts  about  our  mysterious  life,  that  of  Berkeley- 
wrapped  up  in  his  conception  of  the  material  world — seems  to 
me,  when  truly  understood,  to  be  among  the  simplest  and  most 
beautiful  in  the  history  of  philosophy. 


WRITINGS 


OF 


BISHOP    BERKELEY 

HITHERTO    UNPUBLISHED: 
METAPHYSICAL    AND    DESCRIPTIVE, 

WITH   SERMONS,   SKELETONS   OF   SERMONS,   AND   AN 

EPISCOPAL  CHARGE. 


VOL.  IV.  E  e 


[COMMONPLACE    BOOK 


OF 


OCCASIONAL    METAPHYSICAL    THOUGHTS^] 


I.    =  Introduction. 

M.  =  Matter. 

P.    =  Primary  and  Secondary  qualities. 

K   =  Existence. 

T.  =  Time. 

S.    =  Soul — Spirit 

G.  =  God. 

Mo.=  Moral  Philosophy. 

N.  =  Natiual  Philosophy. 


Qu.  if  there  be  not  two  kinds  of  visible  extension — one  per- 
ceiv'd  by  a  conftis'd  view,  the  other  by  a  distinct  successive 
direction  of  the  optique  axis  to  each  point  ? 


'  This  MetaphjTsical  CommonpUce  Book, 
as  I  have  called  it,  is  a  small  quarto  volume, 
in  Berkeley's  handwriting,  in  which  he  seems 
to  have  set  down,  often  as  if  for  further 
private  consideration,  stray  thoughts  which 
occurred  to  him  in  the  course  of  his  mathe- 
matical and  metaphysical  studies  at  Trinity 
College,  Dublin.  These  common-places  seem 
to  have  been  formed  gradually,  apparently  in 
1705   and  some  following  years.     On  the 
first  page  is  written  *  G.  B.  Coll.  Trin.  Dub. 
alum.'     There  is  little  method  in  the  ar- 
rangement, though  a  progress  in  something 
like  chronological  order  may,  perhaps,  be 
traced    in   some  parts.     Considerable   por- 
tions imply  that  he  was  at  the  time  maturing 
his   thoughts   with   a  view  to    the    publi- 
cation   of  the   Essay  on   Vision^  and  the 
PrineipUs  of  Human  KnowUdgt ;  but  the 
form  which  the  projected  work  (or  works) 
was    to    take    does    not    appear    to    have 
been  finally  settled   in   his  mind.     Several 


passages  refer  to   the  Introduction   to  the 
PrineipUs. 

The  Commonplace  Book  contains  many 
references  to  Locke's  Essay,  as  well  as  to 
the  metaphysical  and  other  works  of  Des 
Cartes,  the  first  Book  of  the  RMcb^rcbt  of 
Malebranche,  and  various  parts  of  the  writ- 
ings of  Hobbes ;  also  Newton  and  contem- 
porary authorities  in  nuthematics  and  natural 
philosophy. 

The  original  manuscript  is  followed 
throughout,  except  the  omission  of  some  of 
the  repetitions  of  identical  thought  in  die 
same,  or  almost  the  same,  words.  Here  and 
there  the  writing  is  nearly  obliterated,  appa- 
rently by  the  action  of  water. 

The  letters  I,  M,  P,  &g.  prefixed  to  some 
of  the  queries  and  other  thoughts,  are  ex- 
plained above. 

I  have  added  a  few  annotations  as  they  hap- 
pened to  occur.  These  might  have  been  multi- 
plied indefinitely,  had  space  allowed. — A.  C.  F. 


E  e  9 


420  Comnumplace  Book. 

I.  No  general  ideas — the  contrary  a  cause  of  mistake  or  confusion 
in  mathematiques,  &c.  This  to  be  intimated  in  y«  Introduc- 
tion 2. 

The  Principle  may  be  apply^d  to  the  difficulties  of  conservation, 
co-operation,  &c. 

N.  Trifling  for  the  philosophers  to  enquire  the  cause  of  magnetical 
attractions,  &c.    They  onely  search  after  co-existing  ideas. 

M.       Quxcunque  in  Scriptura  militant  adversus  Copemicum,  militant 

^'     pro  me. 

M.       All  things  in  the  Scripture  w*'*  side  with  the   vulgar  against 

^*  the  learned,  side  with  me  also.  I  side  in  all  things  with  the  mob. 
I  know  there  is  a  mighty  sect  of  men  will  oppose  me,  but  yet  I 
mky  expect  to  be  supported  by  those  whose  minds  are  not  so  feu- 
overgrown  wtt»  madness.  These  are  far  the  greatest  part  of 
mankind — especially  Moralists,  Divines,  Politicians;  in  a  word, 
all  but  Mathematicians  and  Natural  Philosophers  (I  mean  only 
the  hypothetical  gentlemen).  Experimental  philosophers-^  have 
nothing  whereat  to  be  offended  in  me. 

Newton  begs  his  principles;  I  demonstrate  mine. 

M.        I  must  be  very  particular  in  explaining  w*  is  meant  by  things 

E.  existing — in  houses,  chambers,  fields,  caves,  8cc. — ^w"  not  per- 
ceived as  well  as  w**  perceived,  and  shew  how  the  vulgar  notion 
agrees  with  mine,  when  we  narrowly  inspect  into  the  meaning 
and  definition  of  the  word  Existence,  w^  is  no  simple  idea  dis- 
tinct from  perceiving  and  being  perceived*. 

The  Schoolmen  have  noble  subjects,  but  handle  them  ill.  The 
mathematicians  have  trifling  subjects,  but  reason  admirably  about 
them.    Certainly  their  method  and  arguing  are  excellent. 

God  knows  how  far  our  knowledge  of  intellectual  beings  may  be 
enlarged  from  the  Principles. 

M.  The  reverse  of  the  Principle  I  take  to  have  been  the  chief  source 
of  all  that  scepticism  and  folly,  all  those  contradictions  and  in- 
extricable puzzling  absurdities,  that  have  in  all  ages  been  a  reproadi 
to  human  reason,  as  well  as  of  that  idolatry,  whether  of  images  or 

'  Cf.    Introduction   to  the  Principles   of  explained.     See  also  Siris^  sect.  331 — 264. 
Human  Knowledgtt  itct.  6 — 17;  also  vol.  I.  *  He  attempts  this  in  many  parts  of  the 

of  the  Works, — Appendix  A.  PrincipUs  and  the  Dicdoguet.    The  difBcoky 

*  Cf.  Principles,  sect.  60 — 66,  loi — 117,  of  reconciling  the  Berkekian  Principle  with 

where  the  important  office  of  experimental  the    assumed   suhstanet  or  pemummct  of 

research,  under  the  Berkeleian  conception  of  sensible  things  is  one  of  the  diief  difiicohies 

the  material  world,  and  physical  causation,  is  for  those  beginning  to  realise  it. 


^^H  Comnumplace  Book.  421 

of  gold,  &c.,  that  blinds  the  greatest  part  of  the  world,  as  well  as 
that  shameful!  immoraJity  that  turns  us  into  beasts. 

rrn  vixit  &  fuit. 

ovo-ia,  the  name  for  substance  used  by  Aristotle,  the  Fathers,  Sec. 

If  at  the  same  time  wc  shall  make  the  mathematiques  much 
more  easic  and  much  more  accurate,  w'  can  be  objected  to  us*  ?        ■ 

We  need  not  force  our  imagination  to  conceive  such  very 
small  lines  for  infinitesimals.  They  may  every  whit  as  well  be 
iinagin'd  big  as  little,  since  that  the  int^er  must  be  infinite. 

Evident  that  w<*  has  an  iniinite  number  of  parts  must  be 
infinite. 

We  cannot  imagine  a  line  or  space  inlmitely  great — therefore 
absurd  to  talk  or  make  propositions  about  it. 

We  cannot  imagine  a  line,  space,  &c.,  quovis  lato  majus.  Since  , 
y'  what  wc  imagine  must  be  datum  aliquod,  a  thing  cant  be  I 
greater  than  itself.  | 

If  you  call  infinite  that  w""  is  greater  than  any  assignable  bjr 
another,  then  I  say,  in  that  sense  there  may  be  an  iniinite  square, 
Sf^cre,  or  any  other  figure,  w^""  is  absurd. 

Qu.  if  extension  be  resoluble  into  points  it  does  not  con- 
sist of? 

No  reasoning  about  things  whereof  we  have  no  ideas*,  therefore 
no  reasoning  about  infinitesimals.  1 

No  word  to  be  used  without  an  idea'. 

If  uneasiness  be  necessary  to  set  the  Will  at  work,  Qu.  how 

shall  we  will  in  heaven? 

Baylc's,   Malbranch's,  &c.   ar^ments   do  not   seem   to   prove 

against  Space,  but  oncly  against  Bodies. 

1  agree  in  nothing  wth  the  Cartesians  as   to   y"  existence   of 

Bodies  6c  Qualities- 
Aristotle  as  good  a  man  as  Euclid,  but  he  was  allowed  to  have 

been  mistaken. 

Lines  not  proper  for  demonstration. 

'  He  ratinally  rontcroplaied  Ihni  eiil/  the  '  idta,  wiih  BeikcWj,  m«iii  whal  we  ira 

■l^cilion  of  hii  New  Prindple  to  Mithe-  coDidoiu  of,  eilhci  in  lout-percipiion  oi  in 

Duties—  coocctmd  at  they  ire  wiih  Quiotily,  imjgiiution. 

Space. Nomber, &c.:  bolheMemilooveilook  '  Bui  cf.  Alcipbron,  Dai.  VII.  8— 171 

Kme  of  the  cwidilioDi  of  it(  applicability.  ilio  Inlioduaioii  to  Frinciflts. 


422 


Commonplace  Book. 


M.       We  see  the  house  itself,  the  church  itself;  it  being  an  idea, 

and  nothing  more.    The  house  itself,  the  church  itself,  is  an  idea, 

i.  e.  object,  immediate  object,  of  thought*. 

Instead  of  injuring,  our  doctrine  much  benefits  geometry. 
E.        Existence  is  percipi,  or  percipere,  [or  velle,  i.  e.  agere^].    The 

horse  is  in  the  stable,  the  books  are  in  the  study  as  before. 
N.        In  physiques  I  have  a  vast  view  of  things  soluble  hereby,  but 

have  not  leisure. 
N.       Hyps  and  such  like  unaccountable  things  confirm  my  doctrine. 
Angle  not  well  defined.    See  Pardies*  Geometry,  by  Harris,  &c 

This  one  ground  of  trifling. 

One  idea  not  the  cause  of  another — one  power  not  the  cause  of 

another.    The  cause  of  all  natural  things  is  onely  God.     Hence 

trifling  to  enquire  after  second  causes  ^^.    This  doctrine  gives  a 

most  suitable  idea  of  the  Divinity. 
N.        Absurd  to  study  astronomy  and  other  the  like  doctrines  as 

speculative  sciences. 
N.        The  absurd  account  of  memory  by  the  brain,  &c.  makes  for  mc. 
How  was  light  created  before  man  ?  Even  so  were  Bodies  created 

before  man". 
E.        Impossible  anything  besides  that  w^^  thinks  and  is  thought  on 

should  exist  ^^. 

That  w*^^  is  visible  cannot  be  made  up  of  invisible  things. 

M.  S.  is  that  wherein  there  are  not  contained  distinguishable 
sensible  parts.  Now  how  can  that  w*^^  hath  not  sensible  parts 
be  divided  into  sensible  parts  ?  If  you  say  it  may  be  divided  into 
insensible  parts,  I  say  these  are  nothings. 

Extension  abstract  from  sensible  qualities  is  no  sensation,  I 
grant;  but  then  there  is  no  such  idea,  as  any  one  may  try*'^   There 

while  I  am  loddng  at  it. 

"  Separate  inexistence  in  perce|itk)a  is 
one  phase  of  the  Dualism  of  Berkeley :  the 
other  and  deeper  form  of  it  emerges  from 
our  personal  or  Tolimtarj  acting,  in  anti- 
thesis to  what  is  external  to  its  sphere.  Of. 
Collier's  doctrine  of  inexistence,  gi^cn  in 
Berkeley's  Warhs,  vol.  I. — Appendix  B. 

^  Berkeley  hardly  distinguishes  the  dis- 
cernment of  uncmted  matliematical  fotos 
or  relations  (to  which  the  sensible  ideas  or 
phenomena  in  which  the  relations  are  con- 
cretely manifested  must  conform)  from  the 
sensations,  ideas,  or  phenomena  themsehres. 


*  But  a  'house'  or  a  'church'  includes 
more  than  visible  ideas,  so  that  we  cannot 
be  said  to  see  it.  Cf  Lift  and  Letters,  ch.  X. 

*  This  is  added  in  the  margin — an  im- 
portant addition,  which  at  last  resolves  the 
philosophy  of  Berkeley  into  a  philosophy  of 
Causation. 

*®  With  Berkeley  are  no  phenomenal 
'second  causes' — only  natural  signs,  which 
physical  science  interprets. 

'^  This  refers  to  a  vulgar  objection  to 
Berkeley,  now  supposed  to  be  reinforced  by 
recent  discoveries  in  geology.  If  these  con- 
tradict it,  so  does  the  existence  of  a  table 


Commonplace  Book.  423  I 

I  IS  oncly  ^  considering  the  number  of  points  without  the  sort  of  | 
them,  &  this  makes  more  for  me,  since  it  must  be  in  a  cotw  | 
sidering  thing. 

Mem.  Be/ore  I  have  shewn  the  distinction  between  visible  & 
tangible  extension,  I  must  not  mention  them  as  distinct.  I  must 
not  mention  M.  T.  &  M.  V.,  but  in  general  M.  S.,  &c.'* 

Qu.  whether  a  M.  V,  be  of  any  colour  ?  a  M.  T.  of  any  tangible 
quality? 

If  visible  extension  be  the  object  of  geometry,  'tis  that  which  is 
survey'd  by  the  optique  axis. 

1    may   say  the  pain   is   in   my  finger,  &c.,  according   to   my 
_  doctrine'*. 

Mem.  Nicely  to  discuss  wt  is  meant  when  we  say  a  line  con- 
sists of  a  certain  number  of  inches  or  points,  &c. — a  circle  of  a 
certain  number  of  square  inches,  points,  &c.  Certainly  we  may 
think  of  a  circle,  or  have  its  idea  in  our  mind,  without  thinking  of 
points  or  square  inches,  &c.,  whereas  it  should  seem  the  idea  of  a 
circle  is  not  made  up  of  the  ideas  of  points,  square  inches,  &c. 

Qu.  Is  any  more  than  this  meant  by  the  foregoing  expressions, 
viz.  that  squares  or  points  may  be  perceived  In  or  made  out  of  a 
circle.  Sec,  or  that  squares,  points,  flee,  are  actually  in  it,  i.  e.  are 
perceivable  in  it  ? 

A  line  in  abstract,  or  distance,  is  the  number  of  points  between 
two  points.  There  is  also  distance  between  a  slave  &  an 
emperor,  between  a  peasant  &  philosopher,  between  a  drachm 
&  a  pound,  a  farthing  &  a  crown,  &c, ;  in  all  which  distance 
signifies  the  number  of  intermediate  ideas. 

Hallcy's  doctrine  about  the  proportion  between  infinitely  great 
quantities  vanishes.  When  men  speak  of  infinite  quantities, 
either  they  mean  finite  quantities,  or  else  talk  of  [that  whereof 
they  have  '*]  no  idea ;  both  which  are  absurd. 

If  the  disputations  of  the  Schoolmen  are  blam'd  for  intricacy, 
triflingness,  Sc  confosion,  yet  it  must  be  acknowledg'd  that  in 
the    main  they  treated   of  great  fie  important  subjects.      If  we 


"  M.  T.  =  nuitei   ungible;   M.V.  - 

'•  [Thil  nted  not  h»»« 

bHubk 

taXVM  (Jiible:  M,  S.  <=  mitta  teniiblc. 

•ti,  gpod  Bm«  if  •«  do 

but  de 

»  Which  theeommoodoctiincofPrimirv 

w=  m™  b,  Ihing  .nd  ide 

■]-A 

Quililici.  uuiuillf  opliined,  hardly  illowt. 

424-  Commonplace  Book,  ^^^^^^H 

admire  the  method  &  acuteness  of  the  math[ematiciaas}— %£ 
length,  the  subtiity,  the  exactness  of  their  demonstrations — we 
must  nevertheless  be  forced  to  grant  that  they  are  for  the  most 
part  about  trifling  subjects,  and  perhaps  ntjthing  at  all.  ^^^| 

Motion  on  3d  thoughts  seems  to  be  a  simple  idea.  ^^^| 

P-         Motion  distinct  from  y»  thing  moved  is  not  conceivable.      ^^| 

N.  Mem.  To  take  notice  of  Newton  for  defining  it  [motirai]; 
also  of  Locke's  wisdom  in  leaving  it  undefin'd". 

Ut  ordo  partium  temporis  est  immutabilis,  sin  etiam  ordo  par- 
tium  spatii.  Moveantur  ha  de  locis  suis,  et  movebuntur  (lit  ita 
dicam)  de  scipsis.  Truly  number  is  immensurable — that  we  will 
allow  with  Newton. 

P-  Ask  a  Cartesian  whether  he  is  wont  to  imagine  his  globules 
without  colour.  Pcllucidncss  is  a  colour.  The  colour  of  ordinary 
light  of  the  sun  is  white.  Newton  in  the  right  in  assigning  colours 
to  the  rays  of  light. 

A  man  born  blind  would  not  imagine  space  as  we  do.  We  give 
it  always  some  dilute,  or  duskisb,  or  dark  colour — in  short,  we 
imagine  it  as  visible  or  intromitted  by  the  eye,  w^*"  he  would 
not  do. 

N.  Proinde  vim  inferunt  sacris  Uteris  qui  voces  hasce  (v.  tempus, 
spatium,  motus)  de  quantitatibus  mensuratis  ibt  interpretantur. 
Newton,  p.  10. 

N-        1  differ  from  Newton,  in  that  I   think   the   recession  ab  axe 

motus  is  not  the  effect,  or  index,  or  measure  of  motion,  but  of  the 

vis  impressa.     It  sheweth  not  wt  is  truly  moved,  but  w'  has  the 

force  impressed  on  it,  or  rather  that  w"'  hath  an  impressed  force. 

D  and  P  are  not  proportional  in  all  circles,      dd  \?,Xo\dp  zsd 

to  -;  but  d  and  -  are  not  in  the  same  proportion  in  all  circles. 

4'  4  "^    "^ 

Hence  'tis  nonsense  to  seek  the  terms  of  one  general  proportion 
whereby  to  rectify  all  peripheries,  or  of  another  whereby  to  square 
all  circles, 

N.B.  If  the  circle  be  squar'd  arithmetically,  tis  squar'd  geo- 
metrically, arithmetic  or  numbers  being  nothing  but  lines  &  pro- 
portions  of  lines  when  appl/d  to  geometry. 


Commonplace  Book.  425  I 

Mem.  To  remark  Cheyne'^  8c  his  doctrine  of  infinites. 

Extension,  motion,  time,  do  each  of  them  include  the  idea  of  1 
succession,  &  so  far  forth  they  seem  to  be  of  mathematical  con- 
sideration. Number  consisting  in  succession  &  distinct  percep- 
tion,-W"*  also  consists  in  succession ;  for  things  at  once  perceiv'd 
are  jumbled  and  miitt  tc^ether  in  the  mind.  Time  and  motion  can- 
not be  conceiv'd  without  succession,  &  extension,  qua  mathemat,, 
cannot  be  conceiv'd  but  as  consisting  of  parts  w"^"  may  be  dis- 
tinctly &  successively  perceiv'd.  Extension  perceived  at  once 
&  in  confuio  docs  not  belong  to  math. 

The  simple  idea  cali'd  Power  seems  obscure,  or  rather  none  at 
all,  but  onciy  the  relation  'iwixt  Cause  and  Effect.  When  I  asle 
whether  A  can  move  B,  if  A  be  an  intelligent  thing,  I  mean  no 
more  than  whether  the  volition  of  A  that  B  move  be  attended 
with  the  motion  of  B?  If  A  be  senseless,  wiiethcr  the  impulse  of 
A  against  B  be  followed  by  ye  motion  of  B'*? 

Barrow's  arguing  against  indivisibles,  lect,  i.  p.  16,  is  a  petitio 
priocipii,  for  the  Demonstration  of  Archimedes  supposcth  the 
circumference  to  consist  of  more  than  24  points.  Moreover  it 
may  perhaps  be  necessary  to  suppose  the  divisibility  aJ  infinifunij 
in  order  to  demonstrate  that  the  radius  is  equal  to  the  side  of  the 
hexagon. 

Shew  me  an  argument  against  indivisibles  that  does  not  go  on 
some  false  supposition. 

A  great  number  of  insensibles — or  thus,  two  invisibles,  say, 
you  put  ti^ether  become  visible,  therefore  that  M.  V,  contains  or 
is  made  up  of  invisibles,  I  answer,  the  M.V.  docs  not  comprise, 
is  not  composed  of  invisibles.  All  the  matter  amounts  to  this,  viz. 
whereas  1  had  no  idea  awhile  agoc,  I  have  an  idea  now.  It 
remains  for  you  to  prove  that  I  came  by  the  present  idea  because 
there  were  two  invisibles  added  tc^ether.  I  say  the  invisibles 
arc  nothings,  cannot  exist,  include  a  contradiction'^". 


"  George  Cheyne.  Ihe  phjiiciin  (known 
aAowanli  u  lutliut  of  the  EngUsb  Malady), 
publiiliMl  in  1705  1  wotic  on  Fluxinra. 
wfaich  procurei]  him  idmiHion  to  the  Royal 
"Sonnj-      Hi  wji  bom  in  1670. 


Iiii  anticipalei  Hnme. 
liit    u    Berkeley's   reuoning   igaJTUt 
t  or  inteiiuble  qainliiiei,  and  ini-    ' 
uli — iiDponint  in  the  sequ* 


426  Commonplace  Book. 

I  am  young,  I  am  an  upstart,  I  am  a  pretender,  I  am  vain. 
Very  well.  I  shall  endeavour  patiently  to  bear  up  under  the  most 
lessening,  vilifying  appellations  the  pride  &  rage  of  man  can 
devise.  But  one  thing  I  know  I  am  not  guilty  of.  I  do  not  pin 
my  faith  on  the  sleeve  of  any  great  man.  I  act  not  out  of  pre- 
judice or  prepossession.  I  do  not  adhere  to  any  opinion  because 
it  is  an  old  one,  a  revived  one,  a  fashionable  one,  or  one  that 
I  have  spent  much  time  in  the  study  and  cultivation  of. 

Sense  rather  than  reason  or  demonstration  oug^t  to  be  em- 
ployed about  lines  and  figures,  these  being  things  sensible ;  for  as 
for  those  you  call  insensible,  we  have  proved  them  to  be  nonsense, 
nothing. 

L  If  in  some  things  I  di£Fer  from  a  philosopher  I  profess  to  admire, 
'tis  for  that  very  thing  on  account  whereof  I  admire  him,  namely, 
the  love  of  truth.    This  &c. 

I.  Whenever  my  reader  finds  me  talk  very  positively,  I  desire  he*d 
not  take  it  ill.  I  see  no  reason  why  certainty  should  be  confined 
to  the  mathematicians. 

I  say  there  are  no  incommensurables,  no  surds.  I  say  the  side 
of  any  square  may  be  assigned  in  numbers.  Say  you  assign  unto 
me  the  side  of  the  square  lo.  I  ask  w*  lo — lo  feet,  inches,  &c., 
or  lo  points  ?  If  the  later,  I  deny  there  is  any  such  square,  *tis 
impossible  lo  points  should  compose  a  square.  If  the  former, 
resolve  y'  lo  square  inches,  feet,  &c.  into  points,  &  the  number 
of  points  must  necessarily  be  a  square  number  whose  side  is  easily 
assignable. 

A  mean  proportional  cannot  be  found  betwixt  any  two  given 
lines.  It  can  onely  be  found  betwixt  those  the  numbers  of  whose 
points  multipl/d  together  produce  a  square  number.  Thus  betwixt 
a  line  of  2  inches  &  a  line  of  5  inches  a  mean  geometrical 
cannot  be  found,  except  the  number  of  points  contained  in  2 
inches  multipl/d  by  y«  number  of  points  contained  in  5  inches 
make  a  square  number  ^i. 

If  the  wit  and  industry  of  the  Nihilarians  were  employed  about 
the  usefiiU  &  practical  mathematiques,  what  advantage  had  it 
brought  to  mankind ! 

M.        You  ask  me  whether  the  books  are  in  the  study  now,  when  no 

'*  To  sUtementt  here  and  elsewhere  mathematicians  might  not  unreasonably  take  ei- 
ception. 


Commonplace  Book, 


427 


one  is  there  to  see  them  ?  1  answer,  Yes.  You  ask  me,  Are  we 
Dot  in  the  wrong  for  imagining  things  to  exist  when  they  are 
not  actually  percciv'd  by  the  senses?  I  answer,  No.  The  exist- 
ence of  our  ideas  consists  in  being  perceiv'd,  imagin'd,  thought  on. 
Whenever  they  are  imagin'd  or  thought  on  they  do  exist.  Whenever 
they  are  mentioned  or  discours'd  of  they  are  imagin'd  &  thought 
on.  Therefore  you  can  at  no  time  ask  me  whether  they  exist  or 
no,  but  by  reason  of  y'  very  question  they  must  necessarily  exist. 

But,  say  you,  then  a  chimxra  does  exist  ?  1  answer,  it  doth  in 
one  sense,  i.e.  it  is  imagin'd.  But  it  must  be  well  noted  that  exist- 
ence is  vulgarly  restrain'd  to  actual!  perception,  and  that  I  use 
the  word  existence  in  a  lai^er  sense  than  ordinary^^. 

N.B. — According  to  my  doctrine  all  things  are  tntia  ratienis., 
i.  c.  Solum  habent  esse  in  intellectum, 

p*According  to  my  doctrine  all  arc  not  ent'ia  ratienis.  The 
distinction  between  ens  mtlonit  and  ens  reale  is  kept  Up  by  it 
as  well  as  any  other  doctrine.] 

You  ask  me  whether  there  can  be  an  infinite  idea?  I  answer, 
in  one  sense  there  may.  Thus  the  visual  sphere,  tho'  ever  so  small, 
is  infinite,  i.e.  has  no  end.  But  if  by  infinite  you  mean  an  extension 
consisting  of  innumciable  points,  then  I  ask  y'  pardon.  Points,  tho' 
never  so  many,  may  be  numbered.  The  multitude  of  points,  or  feet, 
inches,  &c.,  hinders  not  their  numbrableness  (i.  c.  hinders  not 
their  being  numerable)  in  the  least.  Many  or  most  are  numerable, 
as  well  as  few  or  least.  Also,  if  by  infinite  idea  you  mean  an  idea 
too  great  to  be  comprehended  or  perceiv'd  all  at  once,  you  must 
excuse  me.  I  think  such  an  infinite  is  no  less  than  a  contradiction. 
The  sillyness  of  the  current  doctrine  makes  much  for  me.  They 
commonly  suppose  a  material  world — figures,  motions,  bulks  of 
various  sizes,  ficc. — according  to  their  own  confession  to  no  purpose. 
All  our  sensations  may  be,  and  sometimes  actually  arc,  without 
them ;  nor  can  men  so  much  as  conceive  it  possible  they  should 
concur  in  any  wise  to  the  production  of  them. 

Ask  a  man,  I  mean  a  philosopher,  why  he  supposes  this  vast 
structure,  this  compages  of  bodies?  he  shall  be  at  a  stand ^  he'll 
not  have  one  word  to  say.  W<"i  sufficiently  shews  the  folly  of  the 
hypothesis. 

■-*  Addfd  on  blank  p»ge  of  ihc  MS. 


428  Commonplace  Book. 

M.  Or  rather  why  he  supposes  all  y»  Matter?  for  bodies  and  their 
qualities  I  do  allow  to  exist  independently  of  our  mind'^. 

S.  Qu.  How  is  the  soul  distinguish'd  from  its  ideas  ?  Certainly  if 
there  were  no  sensible  ideas  there  could  be  no  soul,  no  perception, 
remembrance,  love,  fear,  8cc.  j  no  faculty  could  be  exerted**. 

S.  The  soul  is  the  Will,  properly  speaking,  and  as  it  is  distinct  from 
ideas  *•. 

S.  The  grand  puzzling  question,  whether  I  sleep  or  wake?  easily 
solved. 

Qu.  Whether  minima  or  meer  minima  may  not  be  compared 
by  their  sooner  or  later  evanescence,  as  well  as  by  more  or  less 
points,  so  that  one  sensible  may  be  greater  than  another,  though 
it  exceeds  it  not  by  one  point  ? 

Circles  on  several  radius's  are  not  similar  figures,  they  having 
neither  all  nor  any  an  infinite  number  of  sides.  Hence  in  vain  to 
enquire  after  2  terms  of  one  and  y*  same  proportion  that  should 
constantly  express  the  reason  of  the  d  to  the  /  in  all  circles. 

Mem.  To  remark  Wallis's  harangue,  that  the  aforesaid  pro- 
portion can  neither  be  expressed  by  rational  numbers  nor  surds. 

We  can  no  more  have  an  idea  of  length  without  breadth  or 
visibility,  than  of  a  general  figure. 

One  idea  may  be  like  another  idea,  tho'  they  contain  no  com- 
mon simple  idea^T.  Thus  the  simple  idea  red  is  in  some  sense 
like  the  simple  idea  blue ;  'tis  liker  it  than  sweet  or  shrill.  But 
then  those  ideas  wc^  are  so  said  to  be  alike,  agree  both  in  their 
connexion  with  another  simple  idea,  viz.  extension,  &  in  their 
being  received  by  one  &  the  same  sense.  But,  after  all,  nothing 
can  be  like  an  idea  but  an  idea. 

No  sharing  betwixt  God  &  nature  or  second  causes  in  my 
doctrine. 
M.        Materialists  must  allow  the  earth  to  be  actually  mov*d  by  the 
attractive  power  of  every  stone  that  falls  from  the  air,  with  many 
other  the  like  absurditys. 

^  \.  e.  of  my  individual  mind.   For  Berke-  than  sensations,  or  sense-giren  phenomena, 

ley's  analysis  of  the  externality  of  sensible  while  they  cannot  be  conceived  to  be  indepen- 

things,  see  Lift  and  Letters^  ch.  X.  dent  of  it.  This  he  allows  elsewhere,  I  ttunlc 

*  This  implies  that  the  buman  soul  de-  "•  i.e.  from  phenomena, 

pends  on  sensible  ideas  as  well  as  they  on  it.  ^  [This  I  do  not  altogether  approve  of.] 

But  mind  may  be  percipient  of  other  objects  — Author. 


Commonplace  Book. 


429 


ptnquire  concerning  the   pendulum   clock,  &c.;  whether  those 
Inventions  of  Huygens,  &c.  be  attained  to  by  my  doctrine. 
I    The  ""  &  '""  &  """  &c.  of  time  are  to  be  cast  away  and 
neglected,  as  so  many  noughts  or  nothings. 

I    Mem.   To  make  experiments  concerning  minimums  and  their 
KOlours,  whether  they  have  any  or  no,  &  whether  they  can  be  of 

rit  green  w*  seems  to  be  compounded  of  yellow  and  blue. 
Qu,  whether  it  were  not  better  not  to  call  the  operations  of 
^Brx  mind  ideas'* — confining  this  term  to  things  sensible? 
•  Mem.  Diligently  to  set  forth  how  that  many  of  the  ancient 
i|ihilosophers  run  into  so  great  absurditys  as  even  to  deny  the 
^existence  of  motion  and  those  other  things  they  perceiv'd  actually 
!by  their  senses.  This  sprung  from  their  not  knowing  w'  Exist- 
ence was,  and  wherein  it  consisted.  ,  This  the  source  of  all  their 
felly.  'Tis  on  the  discovering  of  the  nature  and  meaning  and 
fcnport  of  Existence  that  I  chiefly  insist.  This  puts  a  wide 
miffcrence  betwixt  the  sceptics  &c.  &  me.  This  I  think  wholly 
foew.     I  am  sure  this  new  to  me. 

'  We  have  learn'd  from  Mr.  Locke  that  there  may  be,  and  that 
Wiere  are,  several  glib,  coherent,  methodical  discourses,  which 
bevertheless  amount  to  just  nothing.  This  by  him  intended  with 
■elation  to  the  Schotemcn.  We  may  apply  it  to  the  mathematicians. 
r  Qu.  How  can  all  words  be  said  to  stand  for  ideas'^?  TTie  word 
'blue  stands  for  a  colour  without  any  extension  or  abstract  from 
Lcxtension.  But  we  have  not  an  idea  of  colour  without  extension. 
|Ve  cannot  imagine  colour  without  extension. 

Locke  seems  wrongly  to  assign  a  double  use  of  words,  one  for 
»mmunicating   &  the  other   for  recording  our   thoughts.     Tis 
surd  to  use  words  for  recording  our  thoughts  to  ourselves,  or 
our  private  meditations™. 

No  one  abstract  simple  idea  like  another.     Two  simple  ideas 

ly  be  connected  with  one  &  the  same  3''  simple  idea,  or  be  in- 

Eromitted  by  one  &  the  same  sense.     But  considered  in  themselves 

licy  can  have  nothing  common,  and  consetjuently  no  likeness. 

Qu.  How  can  there  be  any  abstract  ideas  of  colours  ?     It  seems 

■  He  uiiully  ciUi  ihem  Bonons — in  co 


43<^  Cammanplace  Book. 

not  so  easily  as  of  tastes  or  sounds.  But  then  all  abstract  ideas 
whatsoever  are  particular.  I  can  by  no  means  conceive  a  general 
idea.  Tis  one  thing  to  abstract  one  idea  from  another  of  a 
different  kind,  &  another  thing  to  abstract  an  idea  from  all 
particulars  of  the  same  kind'^. 

N.  Mem.  Much  to  recommend  and  approve  of  experimental 
philosophy. 

S.  What  means  Cause  as  distinguished  from  Occasion  ?  Nothing 
but  a  being  w^  wills,  w©  the  effect  follows  the  volition.  Those 
things  that  happen  from  without  we  are  not  the  cause  of.  There- 
fore there  is  some  other  cause  of  them,  i.  e.  there  is  a  being  that 
wills  these  perceptions  in  us  **. 

[S.  ^  It  should  be  said,  nothing  but  a  Will — a  being  which  wills 
being  unintelligible.] 

One  square  cannot  be  double  of  another.  Hence  the  Pythagpric 
theorem  is  false. 

Some  writers  of  catoptrics  absurd  enough  to  place  the  apparent 
place  of  the  object  in  the  Harrovian  case  behind  the  eye. 

Blew  and  yellow  chequers  still  diminishing  terminate  in  green. 
This  may  help  to  prove  the  composition  of  green. 

There  is  in  green  %  foundations  of  %  relations  of  likeness 
to  blew  &  yellow.     Therefore  green  is  compounded. 

A  mixt  cause  will  produce  a  mixt  effect.  Therefore  colours 
are  all  compounded  that  we  see. 

Mem.  To  consider  Newton's  two  sorts  of  green. 

N.  B.  My  abstract  &  general  doctrines  ought  not  to  be  con- 
demned by  the  Royall  Society.  Tis  w*  their  meeting  did  ulti- 
mately intend.     V.  Sprat's  History  S.  R.^ 


I. 

Mo. 


Mem.  To  premise  a  definition  of  idea^. 

The  %  great  principles  of  morality — the  being  of  a  God  &  the 
freedom  of  man.  Those  to  be  handled  in  the  beginning  of  the 
Second  Book  ^®. 

**  Every  general  notion  is  actually  con-  ^  Added  on  blank  page  of  the  MS. 

ceivable  only  in  one  or  other  of  its  possible  ^  Of.  p.  420,  note  a.   Bishop  Sprat's  Exh 

applications.    A  triangle  must  be  either  equi-  /ory  of  it  Royal  Socuiy  appeared  in  1667. 
lateral,  or  rectangular,  &c.  ^  Much  need,  bat  it  has  not  been  ade- 

"  This  is  the  germ  of  Berkeley's  notion  of  quately  done, 
externality,  or  duality  in  existence,  which  is  "*  What  *  Second  Book'  is  this?  He  speaks 

formed  on  the  consciousness  of  our  individual  of  a  *  First '  and  a  '  Third  Book,'  &c.  in  the 

or  finite  personality.  sequel. 


Conunonplace  Book. 


43» 


^aflJvcrtitur  geometria  ut  non  practica  sed  speculativa.  I 

Archimedes's  proposition  about  squaring  the  circle  has  nothing  | 

to  do  with  circumferences  containing  less  than  96  points  ^  &  if  I 

the  circumference  contain  96  points  it  niay  be  apply'd,  but  nothing  1 
will  follow  against  indivisibles.     V.  Barrow. 

Those  curve  lines  that  you  can   rectiJy  geometrically.     Com-  1 

pare  them  with  their  equal  right  lines  &  by  a  microscope  you  shall  ] 
discover  an  inequality.     Hence  my  squaring  of  the  circle  as  good 

and  exact  as  the  best.  I 

Qu.  whether  the  substance    of   body  or  anything  else  be  any   ] 
more  than  the  collection  of  ideas  included  in  that  thing?     Thus   I 
the  substance  of  any  particular  body  is  extension,  solidity,  figure". 
Of  general  body  no  idea. 

Mem.  Most  carefully  to  inculcate  and  set  forth  that  the  en- 
deavouring to  express  abstract  philosophic  thoughts  by  words 
unavoidably  runs  a  man  into  diHiculties.  This  to  be  done  in  the 
Introduction  '*. 

Mem.  To  endeavour  most  accurately  to  understand  what  is 
meant  by  this  axiom  :  Quec  sibi  mutuo  congruunt  icqualia  sunt. 

Qu.    what    the    geometers    mean    by    equality    of    lines,    fie 
whether,  according  to  their  definition  of  equality,  a  curve  line  | 
can  possibly  be  equal  to  a  right  line? 

If  wtli  me  you  call  those  lines  equal  w^b  contain  an  equal  number 
of  points,  then  there  will  be  no  difficulty.  That  curve  is  equal  to 
a  ri^t  line  w^i"  contains  the  same  points  as  the  right  one  doth. 

I  take  not  away  substances.  I  ought  not  to  be  accused  of  dis- 
carding substance  out  of  the  reasonable  world^".  I  onely  reject  the 
philosophic  sense  (w^h  in  effect  is  no  sense)  of  the  word  substance. 
Ask  a  man  not  tainted  with  their  jargon  wt  he  means  by  cor- 
poreal substance,  or  the  substance  of  body.  He  shall  answer, 
bulk,  solidity,  and  such  like  sensible  qualitys.  These  I  retain. 
The  {^ilosophic  nee  quid,  nee  quantum,  nee  quale,  whereof  I  have 


<  Bidiop  StIIlingflccl'i 


Inlelligeoce.  but  which  >rc  moit  oc  Icii  folly 
cipeiiRiced  by  and  irlelligibte  lo  hunun 
miadk — mind,    both    human   and    Supreme. 


432  Commonplace  Book. 

no  idea,  I  discard,  if  a  man  may  be  said  to  discard  that  which 
never  had  any  being,  was  never  so  much  as  imagined  or  conceived 
M.  In  short,  be  not  angry.  You  lose  nothing,  whether  real  or 
chimerical.  W'ever  you  can  in  any  wise  conceive  or  imagine,  be 
it  never  so  wild,  so  extravagant,  &  absurd,  niuch  good  may  it  do 
you.    You  may  enjoy  it  for  me.     Til  never  deprive  you  of  it. 

N.B.  I  am  more  for  reality  than  any  other  philosof^rs.  They 
make  a  thousand  doubts,  &  know  not  certainly  but  we  may  be 
deceived.     I  assert  the  direct  contrary. 

A  line  in  the  sense  of  mathematicians  is  not  meer  distance. 
This  evident  in  that  there  are  curve  lines. 

Curves  perfectly  incomprehensible,  inexplicable,  absurd,  except 
we  allow  points. 

I.  .  If  men  look  for  a  thing  where  it's  not  to  be  found,  be  they 
never  so  sagacious,  it  is  lost  labour.  If  a  simple  clumsy  man  knows 
where  the  game  lies,  he  though  a  fool  shall  catch  it  sooner  than 
the  most  fleet  &  dexterous  that  seek  it  elsewhere.  Men  choose 
to  hunt  for  truth  and  knowledge  anywhere  rather  than  in  their 
own  understanding,  where  'tis  to  be  found. 

M.       All  knowledge  onely  about  ideas.     Locke,  B.  4.  c  i. 

S.  It  seems  improper,  &  liable  to  difficulties,  to  make  the  word 
person  stand  fbr  an  idea,  or  to  make  ourselves  ideas^  or  thinking 
things  ideas. 

I.         General  ideas  cause  of  much  trifling  and  mistake. 

Mathematicians  seem  not  to  speak  clearly  and  coherently  of 
equality.  TTicy  nowhere  define  w*  they  mean  by  that  word  when 
applyM  to  lines. 

Locke  says  the  modes  of  simple  ideas,  besides  extension  and 
number,  are  counted  by  degrees.  I  deny  there  are  any  modes  or 
degrees  of  simple  ideas.  What  he  terms  such  are  complex  ideas, 
as  I  have  proved  in  green. 

W^  do  the  mathematicians  mean  by  considering  curves  as 
polygons?  Either  they  are  polygons  or  they  are  not.  If  they  arc, 
why  do  they  give  them  the  name  of  curves  ?  Why  do  not  they 
constantly  call  them  polygons,  &  treat  them  as  such  ?  If  they 
are  not  polygons,  I  think  it  absurd  to  use  polygons  in  their  stead. 


Commonplace  Book. 


433  ■ 


W'  is  this  but  to  pervert  language  ?  to  adapt  an  idea  to  a  name 
that  belongs  not  to  it  but  to  a  different  idea? 

The  mathematicians  should  look  to  their  axiom,  Quje  con- 
gruunt  sunt  ^qualia.  I  know  not  what  they  mean  by  bidding  me  put 
one  triangle  on  another.  The  under  triangle  is  no  triangle — 
nothing  at  all,  it  not  being  perceiv'd,  I  ask,  must  sight  be  judge 
of  this  congrucntia  or  not?  If  it  must,  then  all  lines  seen  under 
the  same  angle  are  equal,  w'^''  they  will  not  acknowledge.  Must 
the  touch  be  judge?  But  we  cannot  touch  or  feel  lines  and  sur- 
faces, such  as  triangles,  &c.,  according  to  the  mathematicians 
themselves.  Much  less  can  we  touch  a  line  or  triangle  that's  ' 
cover'd  by  another  line  or  triangle. 

Do  you  mean  by  saying  one  triangle  is  equall  to  another,  that 
they  both  take  up  equal  spaces  ?  But  then  the  question  recurs, 
what  mean  you  by  equal  spaces?  If  you  mean  spatla  congrumia, 
answer  the  above  difficulty  truly. 

I  can  mean  (for  my  patt)  nothing  else  by  equal  triangles  than 
triangles  containing  equal  numbers  of  points. 

1  can  mean  nothing  by  equal  lines  but  lines  w^i"  'tis  indifferent 
hethcr  of  them  I  take,  lines  in  W^^  I  observe  by  my  senses  no    i 
difference,  &  wth  therefore  have  the  same  name. 

Must  the  imagination  be  judge  in  the  aforementioned  ca.ses?  but 
then  imagination  cannot  go  beyond  the  touch  and  sight.  Say  you. 
Pure  intellect  must  be  judge.  I  reply  that  lines  and  triangles  are 
not  operations  of  the  mind  *°. 

If  I  speak  positively  and  with  the  air  of  a  mathematician  in 
things  of  which  I  am  certain,  *tis  to  avoid  disputes,  to  make  men 
careful  to  think  before  they  answer,  to  discuss  my  arguments 
before  they  go  to  refute  them.  I  would  by  no  means  injure  truth 
and  certainty  by  an  affected  modesty  &  submission  to  better 
judgments.  Wt  I  lay  before  you  are  undoubted  theorems,  not 
plausible  conjectures  of  my  own,  nor  learned  opinions  of  other 
men.  1  pretend  not  to  prove  them  by  figures,  analogy,  or  authority. 
Let  them  stand  or  fall  by  their  own  evidence. 

When  you  speak  of  the  corpuscularian  essences  of  bodys,  to 
reflect  on  sect.  ii.  6c  12.  b.  4.  c.  3.  Locke.     Motion  supposes  not 


434  Commonplace  Book. 

solidity.     A  meer  coloured  extension  may  give  us  the  idea  of 
motion. 

P.  Any  subject  can  have  of  each  sort  of  primary  qualities  but  one 
particular  at  once.     Lib.  4.  c.  3.  s.  15.  Locke. 

M.  Well,  say  you,  according  to  this  new  doctrine,  all  is  but  meer 
idea — there  is  nothing  w^  is  not  an  ens  ratloms.  I  answer,  things 
are  as  real,  and  exist  In  return  natura^  as  much  as  ever.  The  difier- 
ence  between  entia  realia  &  entia  ratianis  may  be  made  as  properly 
now  as  ever.  Do  but  think  before  you  speak.  Endeavour  rightly 
to  comprehend  my  meaning,  and  you'll  agree  with  me  in  this. 

N.        Fruitless  the  distinction  'twixt  real  and  nominal  essences. 

We  are  not  acquainted  with  the  meaning  of  our  words.  Real,  ex- 
tension, existence,  power,  matter,  lines,  infinite,  pointy  and  many 
more  are  frequently  in  our  mouths,  when  little,  clear,  and  determinM 
answers  them  in  our  understandings.    This  must  be  well  inculcated. 

]V1.  Vain  is  the  distinction  'twixt  intellectual  and  material  world. 
V.  Locke,  lib.  4.  c.  3.  s.  27,  where  he  says  that  is  far  more  beau- 
tiful than  this. 

S.         Foolish  in  men  to  despise  the  senses.     If  it  were  not  for  them 

Mo.  the  mind  could  have  no  knowledge,  no  thought  at  all.  All  *  *  * 
of  introversion,  meditation,  contemplation,  and  spiritual  acts, 
as  if  these  could  be  exerted  before  we  had  ideas  from  without  by 
the  senses,  are  manifestly  absurd.  This  may  be  of  great  use  in 
that  it  makes  the  happyness  of  the  life  to  come  more  conceivable 
and  agreeable  to  our  present  nature.  The  schoolemen  &  refiners 
in  philosophy  gave  the  greatest  part  of  mankind  no  more  tempting 
idea  of  heaven  or  the  joys  of  the  blest. 

The  vast,  wide-spread,  universal  cause  of  our  mistakes  is,  that 
we  do  not  consider  our  own  notions.  I  mean  consider  them  in  them- 
selves, fix,  settle,  and  determine  them, — we  regarding  them  with 
relation  to  each  other  only.  In  short,  we  are  much  out  in  study- 
[ing]  the  relations  of  things  before  we  study  them  absolutely  and  in 
themselves.  Thus  we  study  to  find  out  the  relations  of  figures  to 
one  another,  the  relations  also  of  number,  without  endeavouring 
rightly  to  understand  the  nature  of  extension  and  number  in  them- 
selves. This  we  think  is  of  no  concern,  of  no  difficulty,  but  if  I 
mistake  not  'tis  of  the  last  importance. 

Mo.  I  allow  not  of  the  distinction  there  is  made  'twixt  profit  and 
pleasure. 


Commonplace  Book. 


435 


'd  never  blame  a  man  for  acting  upon  interest.     He*s  a  foo!  I 
that  acts   on  any  other  principles.      The  not   considering  these 
things  has  been  of  ill  consequence  in  morality  *'. 

My  positive  assertions  are  no  less  modest  than  those  that  are 
introduced  with   'It  seems  to  me,'   'I  suppose/  Sec;    since   I   ' 
declare,  once  for  all,  that  all  I  write  or  think  is  entirely  about 
thin^  as  they  appear  to  mc.     It  concerns  no  man  else  any  further  I 
than  his  thoughts  agree  with  mine.     This  in  the  Preface. 

Two  things  are  apt  to  confound  men  in  their  reasonings  one  with 
another,  ist.  Words  signifying  the  operations  of  the  mind  are 
taken  from  sensible  ideas,  andly.  Words  as  used  by  the  vulgar 
taken  in  some  latitude,  tlicir  signification  is  confused.  Hei 
if  a  man  use  y"  in  a  determined,  settled  signification,  he  is  at 
a  hazard  cither  of  not  being  understood,  or  of  speaking  impro  i 
pcrly.  All  this  remedyed  by  studying  the  understanding- 
Unity  no  simple  idea.  I  have  no  idea  meerly  answering  the 
word  one.     All  number  consists  in  relations". 

£ntia  realia  et  entia  rationis,  a  foolish  distinction  of  the 
SchoolemcD. 

We  have  an  intuitive  knowledge  of  the  existence  of  other  things 
besides  ourselves,  &  order  praecedaneous*^  is  the  knowledge  of  our 
own  existence — in  that  we  must  have  ideas  or  else  we  cannot  think. 

We  move  our  legs  ourselves.  'Tis  we  that  will  their  movement. 
Herein  1  differ  from  Malbranch". 

Mem.  Nicely  to  discuss  Lib,  4.  c.  4,  Locke**. 

Mem.  Again  and  again  to  mention  &  illustrate  the  doctrine 
of  the  reality  of  things,  rerum  natura,  &c. 

W'  I  say  is  demonstration — perfect  demonstration.  Wherever 
men  have  fix'd  &  determin'd  ideas  annexed  to  their  words  they  can 
hardly  be  mistaken.  Stick  but  to  my  definition  of  likeness,  and  'tis 
a  demonstration  y'  colours  are  not  simple  ideas,  all  reds  being  like, 
&c.    So  also  in  other  things.     This  to  be  heartily  insisted  on. 

The  abstract  idea  of  Being  or  Existence  is  never  thought  of  by 
the  vulgar.   They  never  use  those  words  standing  for  abstract  ideas. 

"  Thu  lingei  Berkeley'i  iheologiral  atili-       quoulion  from  Bitrow. 


"  C(.  Prineiptn,  lect.  13,  II9 — til, 
nhich  diqirore  »ny  phyrial  lealily  corre- 
^londing  to  mimter  in  tlie  ibitnct. 

*  Rkhatdioa  ^rcl  Ihii  word.    S«  hii 


43^  Camnumpliice  Book. 

M.  I  must  not  say  the  words  thing,  substance,  &c.  have  been  the 
cause  of  mistakes,  but  the  not  reflecting  on  their  meaning.  I  will 
be  still  for  retaining  the  words.  I  only  desire  that  men  would 
think  before  they  speak,  and  settle  the  meaning  of  their  words. 

Ma  I  approve  not  of  that  which  Locke  says,  viz.  truth  consists  in 
the  joining  and  separating  of  signs. 

I.  Locke  cannot  explain  general  truth  or  knowledge  without  treat- 

ing of  words  and  propositions.   This  makes  for  me  against  general 
ideas.     Vide  Locke,  lib.  4.  ch.  6. 

L  Men  have  been  very  industrious  in  travelling  forward.  They 
have  gone  a  great  way.  But  none  have  gone  backward  beyond 
the  Principles.  On  that  side  there  lies  much  terra  incognita  to  be 
travelM  over  and  discovered  by  me.     A  vast  field  for  invention. 

Twelve  inches  not  the  same  idea  with  a  foot.  Because  a  man 
may  perfectly  conceive  a  foot  who  never  thought  of  an  inch. 

A  foot  is  equal  to  or  the  same  with  twelve  inches  in  this  respect, 
viz.  they  contain  both  the  same  number  of  points. 
[Forasmuch  as]  to  be  used. 

Mem.  To  mention  somewhat  wch  may  encourage  the  study  of 
politiques  and  testify  of  me  y*  I  am  well  disposed  toward  them. 

L  If  men  did  not  use  words  for  ideas  they  would  never  have 
thought  of  abstract  ideas.  Certainly  genera  and  species  are  not 
abstract  general  ideas.  These  include  a  contradiction  in  their 
nature.     Vide  Locke,  lib.  4.  s.  9.  c.  7. 

A  various  or  mixt  cause  must  necessarily  produce  a  various  or 
mixt  efltct.  This  demonstrable  from  the  definition  of  a  causey 
which  way  of  demonstrating  must  be  frequently  made  use  of  in 
my  Treatise,  &  to  that  end  definitions  often  prxmis'd.  Hence 
*tis  evident  that,  according  to  Newton's  doctrine,  colours  cannot 
be  simple  ideas. 

M.  I  am  the  farthest  from  scepticism  of  any  man.  I  know  with  an 
intuitive  knowledge  the  existence  of  other  things  as  well  as  my 
own  soul.  This  is  w^  Locke  nor  scarce  any  other  thinking 
philosopher  will  pretend  to  ^^. 

^  This  and  other  passages  refer  to  the  an-  that  we  can  only  compare  our  thoughts  with 

cient  scepticism  founded  on  the  impossibility  one  another,  and  neyer  escape  from  the  cirde 

of  our  ever  comparing  our  thoughts  about  of  subjectiyity.    Berkelejr's  philosophy  was 

things  with  the  real  things  in  themselves,  so  intended  to  refute  this  sort  of  scepticism. 


Commotiplace  Book.  437 

Doctrine  of  abstraction  of  very  evil  consequence  in  all  the 
sciences.     Mem.  Barrow's  remark.     Entirely  owing  to  language. 

Locke  greatly  out  in  reckoning  the  recording  our  ideas  by 
words  amongst  the  uses  and  not  the  abuses  of  language.  , 

Of  great  use  &  y*  last  importance  to  contemplate  a  man  put 
into  the  world  alone,  with  admirable  abilitys,  and  see  how  after 
long  experience  he  would  know  w'l-out  words.  Such  a  one  would 
never  think  of  genera  and  species  or  abstract  general  ideas. 

Wonderfijl  in  Locke  that  he  could,  w"  advanced  in  years, 
see  at  all  thro'  a  mist;  it  had  been  so  long  a  gathering,  fe  was 
consequently  thick.  This  more  to  be  admir'd  than  y'  he  did  not 
sec  farther. 

Identity  of  ideas  may  be  taken  in  a  double  sense,  cither  as  inclu- 
ding or  excluding  identity  of  circumstances,  such  as  time,  place,  &c. 

I  am  glad  the  people  I  converse  with  are  not  all  richer,  wiser, 
&c.  than  L  This  is  agreeable  to  reason;  is  no  sin.  'Tis  certain 
that  if  the  happyness  of  my  acquaintance  encreases,  &  mine  not 
proportion  ably,  mine  must  decrease.  The  not  understanding 
this  &  the  doctrine  about  relative  good,  discuss'd  with  French, 
Madden",  &c.,  to  be  noticed  as  2  causes  of  mistake  in  judging 
of  moral  matters. 

Mem.  To  observe  (w  you  talk  of  the  division  of  ideas  into 
simple  and  complex)  that  there  may  be  another  cause  of  the  un- 
definableness  of  certain  ideas  besides  that  which  Locke  gives;  viz. 
the  want  of  names. 

Mem.  To  begin  the  First  Book  not  with  mention  of  sensation 
and  reflection,  but  instead  of  sensation  to  use  perception  or 
thought  in  general. 

1  defy  any  man  to  imagine  or  conceive  perception  without  an 
idea,  or  an  idea  without  perception. 

Locke's  very  supposition  that  matter  &  motion  should  exist 
before  thought  is  absurd,  includes  a  manifest  contradiction**. 

Locke's  harangue  about  coherent,  methodical  discourses  amount- 
ing to  nothing,  apply'd  to  the  mathematicians. 

They  talk  of  determining  all  the  points  of  a  curve  by  an  equa- 
tion. W*  mean  they  by  this?  W  would  they  signify  by  the 
word  points?     Do  they  stick  to  the  definition  of  Euclid  ? 

«    ■  ftobaUx  Simucl   Mjddtn,  who  ifler-  "  Btikelij-'i  philMophy  ptofcMi  lo  give 


438  Commonplace  Book. 

Sw  We  think  we  know  not  the  soul,  because  we  have  no  ima- 
ginable or  sensible  idea  annex'd  to  that  sound.  This  the  efiect 
of  prejudice. 

S.  Certainly  we  do  not  know  it.  This  will  be  plain  if  we  ex- 
amine what  we  mean  by  the  word  knowledge.  Neither  doth  this 
argue  any  defect  in  our  knowledge,  no  more  than  our  not  knowing 
a  contradiction. 

The  very  existence  of  ideas  constitutes  the  soul**, 

S.  Consciousness  ^,  perception^  existence  of  ideas,  seem  to  be  all  one. 
Consult^  ransack  y'  understanding.  W^  find  you  there  besides 
several  perceptions  or  thoughts?  W*  mean  you  by  the  word 
mind?  You  must  mean  something  that  you  perceive,  or  y*  you 
do  not  perceive.  A  thing  not  perceived  is  a  contradiction.  To 
mean  (also)  a  thing  you  do  not  perceive  is  a  contradiction. 
We  are  in  all  this  matter  strangely  abused  by  words. 

Mind  is  a  congeries  of  perceptions.  Take  away  perceptions 
and  you  take  away  the  mind.  Put  the  perceptions  and  you  put 
the  mind. 

Say  you,  the  mind  is  not  the  perception,  not  that  thing  which 
perceives.  I  answer,  you  are  abused  by  the  words  '  that  a  thing.' 
These  are  vague  and  empty  words  with  us. 

S.  The  having  ideas  is  not  the  same  thing  with  perception.  A 
man  may  have  ideas  when  he  only  imagines.  But  then  this 
imagination  presupposeth  perception. 

M.  That  wci^  extreamly  strengthens  us  in  prejudice  is  y*  we  think 
we  see  an  empty  space,  which  I  shall  demonstrate  to  be  false 
in  the  Third  Book  ". 

There  may  be  demonstrations  used  even  in  Divinity.  I  mean 
in  revealed  Theology,  as  contradistinguished  from  natural;  for 
tho*  the  principles  may  be  founded  in  faith,  yet  this  hinders 
not  but  that  legitimate  demonstrations  might  be  built  thereon. 
Provided  still  that  we  define  the  words  we  use,  and  never  go 
beyond  our  ideas.     Hence  'twere  no  very  hard  matter  for  those 

^  Does  consciousness  of  phenomena  then  tgos  as  distinguished  from  the  Ego, 

constitute  self — so  that  self  could  not  exist  ""  '  Consciousness/  a  term  seldom  used  by 

in  an  unconscious  state  ?     Here  Berkeley's  Berkeley,  here  equivalent  to  immediate  per- 

theory  of  Time  comes  in.     But  might  not  ception — external  and  internal, 

finite  minds  or  persons  be  kept  in  existence  ^  Again  a  '  Third  Book.'     This  is  done 

during   intervals  of  personal   inactivity,  in  in  the  Ntw  Tbwry  of  Vision^  and  in  the 

the  same  way  as  sensible  things  ?     Berkeley  PrineipUs,  sect.  4a<— 44. 
has  no  clear  teaching  about  finite  minds— 


Commonplace  Book. 


439 


who  hold  episcopacy  or  monarchy  to  be  established  jvrt  Divino  to 
demonstrate  their  doctrines  if  they  are  true.  But  to  pretend  to 
demonstrate  or  reason  anything  about  the  Trinity  is  absurd.  Here 
an  implicit  faith  becomes  us*^. 

Qu.  if  there  be  any  real  difference  betwixt  certain  ideas  of 
reflection  &  others  of  sensation,  e.  g.  betwixt  perception  and 
white,  black,  sweet,  &c.  ?  Wherein,  I  pray  you,  does  the  percep- 
tion of  white  differ  from  white  men   *    *    ■* 

I  shall  demonstrate  all  my  doctrines.  The  nature  of  demon- 
stration  to  be  set  forth  and  insisted  on  in  the  Introduction".  In 
that  I  must  needs  differ  from  Locke,  forasmuch  as  he  makes  all 
demonstration  to  be  about  abstract  ideas,  w^h  i  say  we  have  not 
nor  can  have. 

The  understanding  seemcth  not  to  differ  from  its  perceptions 
or  ideas.     Qu.  What  must  one  think  of  the  will  and  passions  ? 

A  good  proof  that  Existence  is  nothing  without  or  distinct  from 
perception,  may  be  drawn  from  considering  a  man  put  into  the 
world  without  company  ^*. 

There  was  a  smell,  i.e.  there  was  a  smell  perceiv'd.  Thus  we 
see  that  common  speech  coniirms  my  doctrine. 

No  broken  intervals  of  death  or  annihilation.  Those  intervals 
are  nothing;  each  person's  time  being  measured  to  him  by  his 
own  ideas  *^ 

We  are  frequently  puzzl'd  and  at  a  loss  in  obtaining  clear  and 
determin'd  meanings  of  words  commonly  in  use,  &  that  because 
we  imagine  words  stand  (or  general  ideas  which  are  altogether 
inconceivable. 

'  A  stone  is  a  stone.'  This  a  nonsensical  proposition,  and  such 
as  the  solitary  man  would  never  think  on.  Nor  do  I  believe  he 
would  ever  think  on  this :  *  The  whole  is  equal  to  its  parts,'  &c. 

Let  it  not  be  said  that  I  take  away  existence.  I  only  declare 
the  meaning  of  the  word  so  far  as  I  can  comprehend  it. 

If  you  take  away  abstraction,  how  do  men  differ  from  beasts? 
I  answer,  by  shape,  by  language.   Rather  by  degrees  of  more  and  less. 

"  SMe.B.i4;«>iron,Dial.VII.«ct.Ii—  ptoicheuhe  Divine. 
iS,  where  ihc  function  of  faith  <n  finite  "  Thii  not  done, 
mindi.  with   a   iphetc  proponional  to  the  "  i.e.  he  would  have  no  loch  wotd. 
(nlillictiBl  development  of  the  individual,  ii  *  i.e.  Time  ii  only  relative  lo  the  indi- 
refeirecl  to.     Failh  becomes  icience  as  the  vidua! — the  extreme  fonn  of  the  tomo  nun- 
individual    intelligence    devclopes    and    ap-  jwo  principle. 


440 


Commanplau  Book. 


W^  means  Locke  by  inferences  in  words,  consequences  of 
words,  as  something  different  from  consequences  of  ideas  ?  1  con- 
ceive no  sudi  thing. 

1.         N.B.  Much  complaint  about  the  imperfection  of  language. 

M.  But  perhaps  some  man  may  say,  an  inert  thoughtless  substance 
may  exist,  though  not  extended,  moved,  &c.,  but  with  other  proper- 
ties whereof  we  have  no  idea.  But  even  this  I  shall  demonstrate  to 
be  impossible,  w**  I  come  to  treat  more  particularly  of  Existence^. 
Will  not  rightly  distinguish'd  from  Desire  by  Locke — ^it  seeming 
to  superadd  nothing  to  the  idea  of  an  action,  -but  the  uneasiness 
for  its  absence  or  non-existence. 

S.  Mem.  To  enquire  diligently  into  that  strange  mistery,  viz. 
How  it  is  that  I  can  cast  about,  think  of  this  or  that  man,  place, 
action,  w°  nothing  appears  to  introduce  them  into  my  thoughts, 
wii  they  have  no  perceivable  connexion  with  the  ideas  suggested 
by  my  senses  at  the  present  ? 

L  ^is  not  to  be  imagin'd  w^  a  marvellous  emptiness  &  scarcity 
of  ideas  that  man  shall  descry  who  will  lay  aside  all  use  of  words 
in  his  meditations. 

M.  Incongruous  in  Locke  to  fancy  we  want  a  sense  proper  to  sec 
substances  with  ^. 

L  Locke  owns  that  abstract  ideas  were  made  in  order  to  naming. 

M.  The  common  errour  of  the  opticians,  that  we  judge  of  distance 
by  angles,  strengthens  men  in  their  prejudice  that  they  see  things 
without  and  distant  from  their  mind. 

E.  I  am  persuaded,  would  men  but  examine  w*  they  mean  by  the 
word  existence,  they  wou*d  agree  with  me. 

c.  20.  s.  8.  b.  4.  of  Locke  ®®  makes  for  me  against  the  mathema- 
ticians. 

M.  The  supposition  that  things  are  distinct  from  ideas  takes  away 
all  real  truth,  &  consequently  brings  in  a  universal  scepticism, 
since  all  our  knowledge  and  contemplation  is  confin'd  barely  to 
our  own  ideas  ^^. 


"  Principles^  sect.  77 — 81,  89. 

"^  Essay^  Bk.  II.  ch.  33,  and  the  Bishop 
of  Worcester's  Answer  (1697)  to  Locke's 
First  Letter.  Locke's  account  of  Substance, 
and  the  controversy  to  which  it  gave  rise, 
may  have  been  an  immediate  occasion  of 
Berkeley's  New  Conception  of  the  Universe. 

^  Where  and  elsewhere  he  condemns  the 


dogmatic  assumption  of  doubtful  proposi- 
tions as  first  principles — that  £avoarite  one 
above  all,  *  that  our  assumed  first  principles 
are  not  to  be  questioned.' 

"'  i.e.  To  the  phenomena  of  which  we  are 
conscious  or  immediately  percipient,  with  the 
apodeictic  principles  which  enable  us  to  nnde^ 
stand  them,  or  draw  inferences  about  them. 


Commonplace  Book.  441 

Qu.  whether  the  solitary  man  would  not  find  it  necessary  to 
make  use  of  words  to  record  his  ideas,  if  not  in  memory  or  medita- 
tion, yet  at  least  in  writing — without  which  he  could  scarce  retain 
his  knowledge "". 

We  read  in  history  there  was  a  time  when  fears  and  jealousies, 
privileges  of  parliament,  malignant  party,  and  such  like  expres- 
sions of  too  unlimited  and  doubtful  a  meaning,  were  words  of 
much  sway.  Also  the  words  Church,  Whig,  Tory,  &c.,  contribute 
very  much  to  faction  and  dispute. 

The  distinguishing  betwixt  an  idea  and  perception  of  the  idea 
has  been  one  great  cause  of  imagining  material  substances «'. 

That  God  and  blessed  spirits  have  Will  is  a  manifest  argument 
against  Locke's  proofs  that  the  Will  cannot  be  conceiv'd,  put  into 
action,  without  a  previous  uneasiness. 

The  act  of  the  Will,  or  volition,  is  not  uneasiness,  for  that  un- 
easiness may  be  without  volition. 

VoHtion  is  distinct  from  the  object  or  idea  for  the  same  reason. 

Also  from  uneasiness  and  idea  together. 

The  understanding  not  distinct  from  particular  perceptions  or 
ideas. 

The  Will  not  distinct  from  particular  volitions. 

It  is  not  so  very  evident  that  an  idea,  or  at  least  uneasiness, 
may  be  without  all  volition  or  act. 

The  understanding  taken  for  a  faculty  is  not  really  distinct  from 
y«  will. 

This  allow'd  hereafter. 

To  ask  whether  a  man  can  will  either  side  is  an  absurd  ques- 
tion, for  the  word  'can'  presupposes  volition. 

Anima  mundi,  substantial  form,  omniscient  radical  heat,  plastic 
vertue,  Hylaschic  principle — all  these  vanish  "*. 

Newton  proves  that  gravity  is  proportional  to  gravity.  1  think 
that's  all  •■'. 


••  He  bcgini  lo  diicova  thai  comniDiuca- 
tion  wilb  oihen  ■«  not  tbe  only  iu«  of  tigni. 

"  Btil  he  cUcwhere  contraiti  the  idea  ot 
petceptian  with  Ibc  percipient,  ai  tbcte  inli- 
thai)  in  a  duaJiiy. 

■■  Yet  they  reappeai  aftei  a  faihion  in 


illigMM— in  analogy 


man  philotnphy. 

■■   Cr.  Bcrkeley'i   letter  t< 
1 79 ;  alio  Of  AfMu. 


44  2  Commonplace  Book. 

Qu.  whether  it  be  the  vis  inertix  that  makes  it  difficult  to 
move  a  stone,  or  the  vis  attractive,  or  both,  or  neither  ? 

Mem.  To  express  the  doctrines  as  fiilly  and  copiously  and  clearly 
as  may  be.     Also  to  be  full  and  particular  in  answering  objections. 

S.         To  say  y«  Will  is  a  power;  [•* therefore]  volition   is  an  act 

This  is  idem  per  idem. 

Wt  makes  men  despise  extension,  motion,  &c.,  &  separate 

them  from  the  essence  of  the  soul,  is  that  they  imagine  them  to 

be  distinct  from  thought,  and  to  exist  in  unthinking  substance. 
An  extended  may  have  passive  modes  of  thinking  good  actions. 
There  might  be  idea,  there  might  be  uneasiness,  there  might  be 

the  greatest  uneasiness  wthout  any  volition,  therefore  the  *  *  ♦ 
M.       Matter  once  allow'd,  I  defy  any  man  to  prove  that  God  is  not 

matter  ®*. 
S.         Man  is  free.     There  is  no  difficulty  in  this  proposition,  if  we 

but  settle  the  signification  of  the  word  free — if  we  had  an  idea 

annext  to  the  word  free,  and  would  but  contemplate  that  idea. 
S.         We  are  imposed  on  by  the  words  will,  determine,  agent,  free, 

can,  &c. 
S.         Uneasiness  precedes  not  every  volition.     This  evident  by  ex- 
perience. 
S-         Trace  an  infant  in  the  womb.     Mark  the  train  &  succession 

of  its  ideas.     Observe  how  volition  comes  into  the  mind.     This 

may  perhaps  acquaint  you  with  its  nature. 
S.         Complacency  seems  rather  to  determine,  or  precede,  or  coincide 

wth  &  constitute  the  essence  of  volition,  than  uneasiness. 
S.         You  tell  me,  according  to  my  doctrine  a  man  is  not  free.  I  answer, 

tell  me  wt  you  mean  by  the  word  free,  and  I  shall  resolve  you  ^. 

N.  Qu.  Wt  do  men  mean  when  they  talk  of  one  body's  ^  touching' 
another  ?  I  say  you  never  saw  one  body  touch,  or  (rather)  I  say,  I 
never  saw  one  body  that  I  could  say  touch'd  this  or  that  other; 
for  that  if  my  optiques  were  improved,  I  should  see  intervalls  and 
other  bodies  behind  those  whcJ*  now  seem  to  touch. 

Mem.  Upon  all  occasions  to  use  the  utmost  modesty — ^to  con- 

^  So  in  MS.  and  Ends  in  sensible  existence  being,  more- 

*  Berkeley's  philosophy   substitutes  Su-  over,  partially  discovered  in  the  principles  of 

preme   Mind   for  abstract    or  unperceived  physical  and  mathematical  sdenoe. 
Matter — on  the  ground  that  the  necessities  of  ^  On  free  or  proper  agency  in  man,  d  AV 

reason  compel  this — the  Supreme  Thoughts  eipbron,  DiaL  VII.  sect  19 — 2a. 


Commonplace  Book. 


443 


Rite  the  mathematicians  w*  the  utmost  civility  &  respect,  not 
to  style  them  Nihilarians,  &c. 

N.B,  To  rein  in  y  satyrical  nature. 

Blame  me  not  if  I  use  my  words  sometimes  in  some  latitude. 
*Tis  w'  cannot  be  helpt.  Tis  the  fault  of  language  that  you  cannot 
always  apprehend  the  clear  and  determinate  meaning  of  my  words. 

Say  you,  there  might  be  a  thinking  substance — something  un- 
known w*  perceives,  and  supports,  and  ties  together  the  ideas. 
Say  I,  make  it  appear  there  is  any  need  of  it  and  you  shall  have  it 
for  me.  1  care  not  to  take  away  anything  I  can  see  the  least 
reason  to  think  should  exist. 

1  aifimi  'tis  manifestly  absurd — no  excuse  in  the  world  can  be 
given  why  a  man  should  use  a  word  without  an  idea.  Certainly  we 
shall  find  that  w'  ever  word  we  make  use  of  in  matter  of  pure  rea- 
soning has,  or  ought  to  have,  a  compleat  idea  annext  to  it,  i.e.  its 
meaning  or  the  sense  we  take  it  in  must  be  compleatly  known*^. 

'Tis  demonstrable  a  man  can  never  be  brought  to  imagine  any- 
thing should  exist  whereof  he  has  no  idea"*.  Whoever  says  he 
docs,  banters  himself  with  words. 

We  imagine  a  great  difference  &  distance  in  respect  of  know- 
ledge, power,  &c,  betwixt  a  man  &  a  worm.  The  like  difiifrence 
betwixt  man  and  God  may  be  imagin'd,  or  infinitely  greater 
difference, 

We  find  in  our  own  minds  a  great  number  of  different  ideas. 
Wc  may  imagine  in  God  a  greater  number,  i.  e,  that  ours  in 
number,  or  the  number  of  ours,  is  inconsiderable  in  respect 
thereof.  The  words  difference  and  number,  old  and  known,  we 
apply  to  that  wt  is  unknown.  But  I  am  embrangled  in  words 
^tis  scarce  possible  it  should  be  otherwise  "*. 

The  chief  thing  I  do  or  pretend  to  do  is  onely  to  remove  the  mist 
or  veil  of  words'".    This  has  occasion'd  ignorance  &  confijsion. 


4 


■  Bui  cf.  I'rineiplti,  tnnodnction,  tecl. 
■  9 — loi  Aleipbrom,  Dial.  VU.  toct.  S;  and 
AtAHolyil. 

*  i.e.  no  perception  or  imiginition ;  and 
■I  we  anuot  perceive  dt  inuigine  inieniiblc 
Matter,  he  arguei  thit  it  rannal  euit.  Bui. 
Aongb  we  cannot  imi^ne  ihal  of  whicb  wc 
bare  no  idea,  nay  thete  not  be  uaciealcd 
of  the  exittciite  of  idcii.  nbicb 


c  ideai  t 


alind  in 


a  di^nite  o) 


'bno^e' — lo  be 
>t  difficulty.  Thii  ii 
ie  Dirine.  ia  diitioc- 

n  from  Suite  knowledge. 

™  Cf.  PrmcipUi,  [nlroductiou,  Kct.  34. 


444  Commonplace  Book. 

This  has  ruined  the  schoolmen  and  mathematicians,  lawyers  and 
divines. 

S.  The  grand  cause  of  perplexity  &  darkness  in  treating  of  the 
Will,  is  that  we  imagine  it  to  be  an  object  of  thou^t :  (to  speak 
with  the  vulgar),  we  think  we  may  perceive,  contemplate,  and 
view  it  like  any  of  our  ideas,  whereas  in  truth  'tis  no  idea,  nor  is 
there  any  idea  of  it.  Tis  toto  cmlo  different  from  the  under- 
standing, i.  e.  from  all  our  ideas.  If  you  say  the  Will,  or  rather 
volition,  is  something,  I  answer,  there  is  an  homonymy  in  the 
word  *  thing  *  w^  appl/d  to  ideas  and  volition,  and  understanding 
and  will.    All  ideas  are  passive  volitions  [or  actions]. 

S.  Thing  &  idea  are  much  what  words  of  the  same  extent  and 
meaning.  Why,  therefore,  do  I  not  use  the  word  thing?  Ans. 
Because  thing  is  of  greater  latitude  than  idea.  Thing  compre- 
hends also  volitions  or  actions.     Now  these  are  no  ideas. 

S.  There  can  be  perception  wt^out  volition.  Qu.  whether  there 
can  be  volition  without  perception  ? 

E.  Existence  not  conceivable  without  perception  or  volition — not 
distinguished  therefrom. 

T.  N.B.  Several  distinct  ideas  can  be  perceived  by  sight  and 
touch  at  once.  Not  so  by  the  other  senses.  'Tis  this  diversity 
of  sensations  in  other  senses  chiefly,  but  sometimes  in  touch  and 
sight  (as  also  diversity  of  volitions,  whereof  there  cannot  be  more 
than  one  at  once,  or  rather,  it  seems  there  cannot,  for  of  that  I 
doubt),  gives  us  the  idea  of  time — or  is  time  itself^. 
W^  would  the  solitary  man  think  of  number  ? 

S.         There  are  innate  ideas,  i.e.  ideas  created  with  us''*. 

S.  Locke  seems  to  be  mistaken  w^  he  says  thought  is  not  essen- 
tial to  the  mind'^^ 

S.  Certainly  the  mind  always  and  constantly  thinks :  and  we  know 
this  too.  In  sleep  and  trances  the  mind  exists  not  ''^ — there  is  no 
time,  no  succession  of  ideas. 

S,  To  say  the  mind  exists  without  thinking  is  a  contradiction, 

nonsense,  nothing. 

S.  Folly  to  inquire  w^  determines  the  Will.     Uneasiness,  &c.  are 

^*  Cf.  Berkeley's  letter  to  Johnson,  p.  177.  '^  Essay,  Bk.  II.  ch.  i. 

"  i.  e.  connate  ideas,  or  connate  pheno-  '*  This  is  one  way  of  meeting  the  diffi- 

mena.      What  are  these  ?      Not   connate  culty  of  gaps  or  intervals  in  the  continiiity 

notions,  as  in  Siris,  sect.  308.  of  conscious  life. 


Commonplace  Book. 


445 


eas,  therefore  unactive,  therefore  can  do  nothing,  therefore  can- 
it  determine  the  Wil], 

Again,  w*  mean  you  by  determine'*  ? 

For  want  of  rightly  understanding  time,  motion,  existence,  S^c, 

en  are  fore"!!  into  such  absurd  contradictions  as  this,  viz.  light 

oves  i6  diameters  of  earth  in  a  second  of  time  '*. 

'Twas  the  opinion  that  ideas  could  exist  unperceiv'd,  or  before 

nception,  that  made  men  think  perception  was  somewhat  different 
rom  the  idea  perceived — y'  it  was  an  idea  of  reflection,  whereas 
thing  percciv'd  was  an  idea  of  sensation.  I  say,  'twas  this  made 
'em  think  the  understanding  took  it  in,  receiv'd  it  from  without, 

*  could  never  be  did  not  they  think  it  eusted  without  ■". 

Properly  speaking,  idea  is  the  picture  of  the  imagination's 
pnaking.      This  is  ye  likeness  of,  and  refcr'd  to  the  'real  idea,' 

(if  you  will)  thing". 

To  ask,  have  we  an  idea  of  Will  or  volition,  is  nonsense.  An 
dca  can  resemble  nothing  but  an  idea. 

If  you  ask  w'  thing  it  is  that  wills,  I  answer,  if  you  mean 
idea''  by  the  word  thing,  or  anything  like  any  idea,  then  I  sayj 

s  no  thing  at  all  that  wills.   This  how  extravagant  soever  it  may 

em,  yet  is  a  certain  truth.     We  are  cheated  by  these  general 

rms,  thing,  is,  &c. 

Again,  if  by  is  you  mean  is  perceived,  or  does  perceive,  I  say 

ithing  w'h  is  perceived  or  does  perceive  wills. 

The  refening  ideas  to  things  w*  are  not  ideas,  the  using  the 
term  *  idea  of*",'  is  one  great  cause  of  mistake,  as  in  other  matters, 
also  in  this. 

Some  words  there  are  wch  do  not  stand  for  ideas,  viz.  particles, 
will,  &c.   Particles  stand  for  volitions  and  their  concomitant  ideas. 

There  seem  to  be  but  two  colours  w='>  are  simple  ideas,  viz, 
those  exhibited  by  the  most  and  least  refrangible  rays,  .  .  .  [the 

Wilh  Bcikeley,  ToHtion  ji  the  propti 
ang,  of  ictioa,  which  in  iri  cuence  ii 
■tf-oHgiiuled,  and  to  uk  far  the  power  or 
kctum  which  producei  power  or  action  u 
Uaord. 

"  Time.  Motion,  Eiislcncc  itulT,  lie. 
<«idi  Bcikclcy,  neccturily  concrete  and 
nlatiTC. 


"  i.  e.  idta  i>  rather  a  name  for  the  rt- 

whjth  wc  are  originally  coniciout  in  the 
leniea.     It  might  hare  been  well  i/  he  hid 
alwayi  kept  to  Ihii. 

**  '  Idea.'  i.  e.  the  phenomena  and  eflecti 
which  when  aggregated  conititulc  the  phj- 

-  A 

(m.llke 

(  we  mnit  do  in  Imaginatiotl.  which 
untc)  II  repreienl»li»e. 

44^  Commonplace  Book. 

others],  being  the  intermediate  ones,  may  be  formed  by  com- 
position. 
S»         I  have  no  idea  of  a  volition  or  act  of  the  mind,  neither  has  any 
other  intelligence,  for  that  were  a  contradiction. 

N.  B.  Simple  ideas,  viz.  colours,  are  not  devoid  of  all  sort  of 
composition,  tho'  it  must  be  granted  they  are  not  made  up  of 
distinguishable  ideas.  Yet  there  is  another  sort  of  compositioiL 
Men  are  wont  to  call  those  things  compounded  in  which  we  do 
not  actually  discover  the  component  ingredients.  Bodies  are  said 
to  be  compounded  of  chymical  principles,  which,  nevertheless,  come 
not  into  view  till  after  the  dissolution  of  the  bodies,  w«*»  were  not, 
could  not  be  discerned  in  the  bodies  whilst  remaining  entire. 

I.  All  our  knowledge  is  about  particular  ideas,  according  to  Locke. 

All  our  sensations  are  particular  ideas,  as  is  evident.  W*  use 
then  do  we  make  of  general  ideas,  since  we  neither  know  nor  per- 
ceive them. 

S.  'Tis  allowed  that  particles  stand  not  for  ideas,  and  yet  they  are 
not  said  to  be  empty  useless  sounds.  The  truth  really  is,  they 
stand  for  the  operations  of  the  mind,  i.  e.  volitions. 

Mo.  Locke  says  all  our  knowledge  is  about  particulars.  If  so,  pray 
w*  is  the  following  ratiocination  but  a  jumble  of  words  ?  ^  Omnis 
homo  est  animal;  omne  animal  vivit:  er^  omnis  homo  vivit' 
It  amounts  (if  you  annex  particular  ideas  to  the  words  ^  animal' 
and  *  vivit')  to  no  more  than  this:  *  Omnis  homo  est  homo; 
omnis  homo  est  homo:  ergo,  omnis  homo  est  homo.*  A  mere 
sport  and  trifling  with  sounds. 

Mo.  We  have  no  ideas  of  vertues  &  vices,  no  ideas  of  moral  actions. 
Wherefore  it  may  be  question'd  whether  we  are  capable  of  arriving 
at  demonstration  about  them®^,  the  morality  consisting  in  the 
volition  chiefly. 

E.  Strange  it  is  that  men  should  be  at  a  loss  to  find  their  idea  of 
Existence®*,  since  that  (if  such  there  be  distinct  from  perception)  it 
is  brought  into  the  mind  by  all  the  ways  of  sensation  and  reflection; 
methinks  it  should  be  most  familiar  to  us,  and  we  best  acquainted 
with  it. 

^  As  Locke  sa3r8  we  are.  is  conscious  in   knowing   and  acting  and 

^  i.e.  of  existence  in  the  abstract,  distinct      in    what     is    actually   known    and    \to- 
from  the  concrete  existence  of  which  one      duced. 


Commonplace  Book. 


447 


This  I  am  sure,  I  have  no  idea  of  Existence'*,  or  annext  to  the 
word  existence.  And  if  others  have  that's  nothing  to  me;  they 
can  never  make  me  sensible  of  it;  simple  ideas  being  incommu- 
nicable by  language. 

Say  you,  the  unknown  substratum  of  volitions  &  Ideas  is  some- 
thing whereof  !  have  no  idea.  I  ask,  b  there  any  other  being 
which  has  or  can  have  an  idea  of  it  ?  If  there  be,  then  it  must  be 
itself  an  idea;  which  you  will  think  absurd. 

There  is  somewhat  active  in  most  perceptions,  i.e.  such  as 
ensue  upon  our  volitions,  such  as  wc  can  prevent  and  stop:  e.g.  I 
turn  my  eyes  toward  the  sun — I  open  them.     All  this  is  active. 

Things  are  twofold — active  or  inactive.  The  existence  of 
active  things  is  to  act** ;  of  inactive  to  be  perceiv'd. 

Distinct  from  or  without  perception  there  is  no  volition;  there- 
fore neither  is  there  existence  without  perception. 

God  may  comprehend  all  ideas,  even  the  ideas  wci"  are  painfull 
&  unpleasant,  without  being  in  any  degree  pained  thereby. 
Thus  wc  ourselves  can  imagine  the  pain  of  a  burn,  &c.  without 
any  misery  or  uneasiness  at  all  **. 

Truth,  three  sorts  thereof — natural,  mathematical,  &  moral. 
^  '      Agreement  of  relation  onely  where  numbers  do  obtain — of  co- 
^  existence  in  nature — of  signification  ...  by  including  in  morality. 

Gyantwho  shakes  the  mountain  that's  on  him  must  be  acknow- 
ledged— or  rather  thus:  I  am  no  more  to  be  reckon'd  stronger 
than  Locke,  than  a  pigmy  should  be  reckon'd  stronger  than  a 
gyant  because  he  could  throw  off"  the  molehill  w^i"  lay  upon  him, 
and  the  gyant  could  onely  shake  or  shove  the  mountain  that 
oppressed  him.     This  in  the  Preface. 

Promise  to  extend  our  knowledge  &  cle.ir  it  of  those  shameflill 
contradictions  which  embarrass  it.  Something  like  this  to  begin 
the  Introduction  in  a  modest  way  *^ 

Whoever  shall  pretend  to  censure  any  part,  I  desire  he  would 
read  out  the  whole,  else  he  may  perhaps  not  understand  me — in 
the  Preface  or  Introduction  *^. 


**  i.  t.  of  Exiitcocc  tuppliol  dittiact  ftom 
being  pemiTed  and  piodoccd.  which  list 
alone  i*  preKDtiblc  inunie,  oi  repcscnUblc  \a 
iRUgiiation — is  idol  or  pbmomen*).  in  (hort  ■ 

"  TbU  Ham  to  ncogniie  only  the 
hlm^»,  not  the  Mp^tia  oi  Ariitotle. 

"  Tllii  impliei  the  poiiibility  of  God'i 


knowing  teoilble  thingt  wilhoul  being  ten- 
tienl — knowing  thoM  of  Hi)  own  Thought! 
which  ire  dimly  lignified  to  hi  in  lente, 
inteipteC'l '"  phyiicjt  Kience. 

*"  Cr.  Prouipla,  tnlroduction.  tecl.  [—4. 

"  Cf.  Prefife  10  PrineipUt:  lUo  to  Dia- 


I 


44^  Comtnonplace  Book. 

S.  Doctrine  of  identity  best  explain'd  by  taking  the  Will  for 
volitions,  the  Understanding  for  ideas.  The  di£EcuIty  of  con- 
sciousness of  wi  are  never  acted  surely  solv'd  thereby. 

I.  I  must  acknowledge  myself  beholding  to  the  philosophers  who 
have  gone  before  me.  They  have  given  good  rules,  though  cer- 
tainly they  do  not  always  observe  them.  Similitude  of  adven- 
turers, who,  tho*  they  attained  not  the  desired  port,  they  by  their 
wrecks  have  made  known  the  rocks  and  sands,  whereby  the 
passage  of  aftercomers  is  made  more  secure  &  easy.  Pre&ce 
or  Introduction. 

Ma  The  opinion  that  men  had  ideas  of  moral  actions  ^  has  rendered 
the  demonstrating  ethiques  very  difficult  to  them. 

S.  An  idea  being  itself  unactive  cannot  be  the  resemblance  or 
image  of  an  active  thing. 

I*  Excuse  to  be  made  in  the  Introduction  for  using  the  word  idea, 

viz.  because  it  has  obtained.     But  a  caution  must  be  added. 

Scripture  and  possibility  are  the  onely  proofs  with  Malbranch. 
Add  to  these  what  he  calls  a  great  propension  to  think  so.  This 
perhaps  may  be  questioned.  Perhaps  men,  if  they  think  before 
they  speak,  will  not  be  found  so  thoroughly  persuaded  of  the  exist- 
ence of  Matter  ®^. 

M.  On  second  thoughts  I  am  on  t'other  extream.  I  am  certain  of 
that  well  Malbranch  seems  to  doubt  of,  viz.  the  existence  of 
bodies  ®®. 

!•         Mem.  To  bring  the  killing  blow  at  the  last,  e.  g.  in  the  matter 
•  of  abstraction  to  bring  Ixx:ke*s  general  triangle  in  the  last  ^\ 

I.  They  give  good   rules,  tho*  perhaps  they  themselves   do  not 

always  observe  them.  They  speak  much  of  clear  and  distinct 
ideas,  though  at  the  same  time  they  talk  of  general  abstract  ideas, 
&c.  ril  [instance]  in  Locke's  opinion  of  abstraction,  he  being  as 
clear  a  writer  as  I  have  met  with.  Such  was  the  candour  of  this 
great  man  that  I  perswade  myself,  were  he  alive  ®%  he  would  not  be 
ofFended  that  I  differ  from  him,  seeing  that  even  in  so  doing  I 
follow  his  advice,  viz.  to  use  my  own  judgement,  see  with  my 
own  eyes,  &  not  with  another's.     Introduction. 

"i.e.  that  ethics  was  a  science  of  phe-  **  *  Bodies* — i.c.  sensible  things — not  on- 

nomena.  perceived  Matter. 

••  i.  e.   of  abstract,  insensible   Matter —  •'  Cf.  Primeipies,  Introduction,  sect.  13. 

rb  irfpw  of  Plato — as  distinguished  from  **  Locke  died  in  October,  1 704. 
sensible  things. 


Comnwnptace  Book. 


449  I 


The  word  thing  as  comprising  or  standing  for  idea  &  volition  I 
usefull,  as  standing  for  idea  and  archetype  without  the  mind"*  I 
miscbievous  and  useless. 

To  demonstrate  morality  it  seems  one  need  only  make  a  dic- 
tionary of  words  and  see  which  included  which.  At  least,  this  is 
liie  greatest  part  and  bulk  of  the  work. 

Locke's  instances  of  demonstration  in  morality  are,  according  to 
his  own  rule,  trifling  propositions. 

Qu.  How  comes  it  that  some  ideas  are  confessedly  allow'd  by  all 
to  be  onely  in  the  mind",  and  others  as  generally  taken  to  be 
without  the  mind  ^^^  if,  according  to  you,  a!i  are  equally  and  only 
in  the  mind?  Ans.  Because  that  in  proportion  to  pleasure  or  pain 
ideas  are  attended  with  desire,  exertion,  and  other  actions  which 
include  volition.     Now  volition  is  by  all  granted  to  be  in  spirit. 

would  lay  aside  words  in  thinking,  'tis  impossible  they 
should  ever  mistake,  save  only  in  matters  of  tact.  1  mean  it  seems 
impossible  they  should  be  positive  fie  secure  that  anything  was  true 
;n  truth  is  not  so.  Certainly  I  cannot  err  in  matter  of  simple 
perception.  So  far  as  we  can  in  reasoning  go  without  the  help  of 
ftigns,  there  we  have  certain  knowledge.  Indeed,  in  long  deduc- 
tions made  by  signs  there  may  be  slips  of  memory. 

From  my  doctrine  there  follows  a  cure  for  pride.  We  are  only 
to  be  praised  for  those  things  which  are  our  own,  or  of  our  own 
doing — natural  abilitys  are  not  consequences  of  our  volitions. 

Mem.  Candidly  to  take  notice  that  Locke  holds  some  dangerous 
opinions;  such  as  the  infinity  and  eternity  of  Space — the  possi- 
bility of  Matter's  thinking  ^'^. 

Once  more  I  desire  my  reader  may  be  upon  his  guard  against 
the  fallacy  of  words.  Let  him  beware  that  I  to  not  impose  on 
him  by  plausible  empty  talk,  that  common  dangerous  way  of 
cheating   men   into   absurditys.     Let  him  not  regard   my  words 

••   S«    Locke')    Euay,    Bk,   II,   th.   13, 

i  jl.  ch.  1;.  5  4:  ilio  Bk.  IV.  ch.  3.  {  6: 

ilso  his  coattoveny  with  Bithop  Stillin^leet 
re^tdiof  the  poitibility  of  Mitler  h»ving 
ihe  t"W«  of  thinking.  With  Bei-keloy 
fpace  it  u  much  »  crealiue  »  viiible  or 
tangible  thing!. 


**  '  oithoDl  the  miail.'  1.  e.  abtlncled 
liofn,  Di  inelaiire  to  all  mind  uid  volition 
— Divine  sod  finiie. 

"  e.g.  Kcoiuliry  qoiliiin  of  (cniible 
ibingi.  in  which  pleitiice  and  ptia  are  in 
putcr  (toprFiiion. 

"*  c.  g.  piimiry  qualilieA.  in  which  plea. 
nic  ind  pain  ite  in  leu  proportion, 

VOL.  IV.  G 


450  Commonplace  Book. 

any  otherwise  than  as  occasions  of  bringing  into  his  mind 
determin'd  significations.  So  far  as  they  fail  of  this  they  are 
gibberish,  jargon,  &  deserve  not  the  name  of  language.  I  de^ 
&  warn  him  not  to  expect  to  find  truth  in  my  book,  or  anywhere 
but  in  his  own  mind.  W*ever  I  see  myself  'tis  impossible  I 
can  paint  it  out  in  words. 

Mo.  N.B.  To  consider  well  w*  is  meant  by  that  w<*  Locke  saith 
concerning  algebra — ^that  it  supplys  intermediate  ideas.  Also  to 
think  of  a  method  affording  the  same  use  in  morals  &c.  that 
this  doth  in  mathematiques. 

Mo.  Homo  is  not  proved  to  be  vivens  by  means  of  any  intermediate 
idea.  I  don't  fully  agree  w***  Locke  in  wt  he  says  concerning 
sagacity  in  finding  out  intermediate  ideas  in  matter  capable  of 
demonstration  &  the  use  thereof;  as  if  that  were  the  onely  means 
of  improving  and  enlarging  demonstrative  knowledge. 

S.  There  is  a  difference  betwixt  power  &  volition.  There  may 
be  volition  without  power.  But  there  can  be  no  power  without 
volition.  Power  implyeth  volition,  &  at  the  same  time  a  coo- 
notation  of  the  effects  following  the  volition. 

M.       We   have  assuredly  an   idea  of  substance.    Twas  absurd  of 

S.  Locke  ®9  to  think  we  had  a  name  without  a  meaning.  This  might 
prove  acceptable  to  the  Stillingfleetians. 

M.        The  substance  of  Body  we  know  ^     The  substance  of  Spirit  we 

S.     do  not  know — it  not  being  knowable,  it  being  a  purus  actus. 

I,  Words  have  ruin'd  and  overrun  all  the  sciences — law,  physique, 

chymistry,  astrology,  &c. 

I.  Abstract  ideas  only  to  be  had  amongst  the  learned.     The  vulgar 

never  think  they  have  any  such,  nor  truly  do  they  find  any  want 
of  them.  Genera  &  species  &  abstract  ideas  are  terms  unknown 
to  them. 

S.  Locke's  out  ^ — the  case  is  different.  We  can  have  an  idea  of 
body  without  motion,  but  not  of  soul  without  thought. 

Mo.  God  ought  to  be  worshiped.  This  easily  demonstrated  when 
once  we  ascertain  the  signification  of  the  words  God,  worship, 
ought. 

**  Essay,  Bk.  I.  ch.  iv.  §  i8.     See  also  stitutes  a  sensible  thing. 
Locke's  Letters  to  Stillingfleet.  '  Essay,  Bk.  II.  ch.  i.  §  lo— where  be 

^  It  is,  according  to  Berkeley,  the  steadily  argues  against  the  constancy  or  contiooity 

maintained  union  of  various  sense-given  phe-  of  consciousness  in  men. 
nomena,  involving  universality,  which  con- 


Commonplace  Book.  451 

No  perception,  according  to  Locke,  is  active.  Therefore  no 
perception  (i.e.  no  idea)  can  be  the  image  or  like  unto  that 
whidi  is  altogether  active  &  not  at  all  passive,  i.  e.  the  Will. 

I  can  will  the  calling  to  mind  something  that  is  past,  tho'  at 
tiie  same  time  that  w^h  I  call  to  mind  was  not  in  my  thoughts 
before  that  volition  of  mine,  &  consequently  I  could  have  had 
no  uneasiness  for  the  want  of  it. 

The  Will  &  the  Understanding  may  very  well  be  thought  two 
distinct  beings. 

Sed  quia  voluntas  raro  agit  nisi  ducente  desiderio.  V.  Locke, 
Epistles,  p.  479,  ad  Limburgum. 

You  cannot  say  the  m.  t.  is  like  or  one  with  the  m.  v.,  because 
they  be  both  minima,  just  perceived,  and  next  door  to  nothing. 
You  may  as  well  say  the  m.  t.  is  the  same  with  or  like  unto  a 
sound,  so  small  that  it  is  scarce  perceivM. 

Extension  seems  to  be  a  mode  of  some  tangible  or  sensible 
quality  according  as  it  is  seen  or  felt. 

The  spirit — ^the  active  thing — that  wcl»  is  soul,  &  God — is 
the  Will  alone.     The  ideas  are  effects— impotent  things. 

The  concrete  of  the  will  &  understanding  I  might  call  mind, 
not  person,  lest  offence  be  given — there  being  but  one  volition 
acknowledged  to  be  God.  Mem.  Carefully  to  omit  defining  of 
person,  or  making  much  mention  of  it. 

You  ask,  do  these  volitions  make  one  Will?  W*  you  ask  is 
meerly  about  a  word — unity  being  no  more  ^ 

N.B.  To  use  utmost  caution  not  to  give  the  least  handle  of 
offence  to  the  Church  or  Churchmen. 

Even  to  speak  somewhat  favourably  of  the  Schoolmen,  and  shew 
that  they  who  blame  them  for  jargon  are  not  free  of  it  themselves. 
Introd. 

Locke's  great  oversight  seems  to  be  that  he  did  not  begin  with 
his  third  book,  at  least  that  he  had  not  some  thought  of  it  at 
first.     Certainly  the  7,^  &  4*^  books  don't  agree  wtli  wt  he  says  in 

r  ?^' 

*  Does  thii  resolve  the  diHerence  between  a  succesfion  of  volitioni   and  an  identical 
person  into  an  affair  of  words  ? 

eg  a 


452  Commonplace  Book. 

M.  If  Matter*  is  once  allow'd  to  exist,  clippings  of  weeds  and  parings 
of  nails  may  think,  for  ought  that  Locke  can  tell — tho*  he  seems 
positive  of  the  contrary. 

Since  I  say  men  cannot  mistake  in  short  reasoning  about  things 
demonstrable,  if  they  lay  aside  words,  it  will  be  expected  this 
Treatise  will  contain  nothing  but  w*  is  certain  &  evident  de- 
monstration, &  in  truth  I  hope  you  will  find  nothing  in  it  but 
what  is  such.    Certainly  I  take  it  all  for  such.     Introd. 

!•  When  I  say  I  will  reject  all  propositions  wherein  I  know  not 
fiiUy  and  adequately  and  clearly,  so  far  as  knowable,  the  thing 
meant  thereby,  this  is  not  to  be  extended  to  propositions  in  the 
Scripture.  I  speak  of  matters  of  Reason  and  Philosophy — not 
Revelation.  In  this  I  think  an  humble,  implicit  feith  becomes 
us  (when  we  cannot  comprehend  or  understand  the  proposi- 
tion), such  as  a  popish  peasant  gives  to  propositions  he  hears 
at  mass  in  Latin.  This  proud  men  may  call  blind,  popish, 
implicit,  irrational.  For  my  part  I  think  it  is  more  irrational 
to  pretend  to  dispute  at,  cavil,  and  ridicule  holy  mysteries,  i.  e. 
propositions  about  things  that  are  altogether  above  our  know- 
ledge, out  of  our  reach.  When  I  shall  come  to  plenary  knowledge 
of  the  meaning  of  any  fact,  then  I  shall  yield  an  explicit  belief. 
Introd  \ 

Complexation  of  ideas  twofold.  Y^  refers  to  colours  being 
complex  ideas. 

Considering  length  without  breadth  is  considering  any  length, 
be  the  breadth  w*  it  will. 

M.  I  may  say  earth,  plants,  &c.  were  created  before  man — there 
being  other  intelligences  to  perceive  them  before  man  was 
created  6. 

M.  There  is  a  philosopher'^  who  says  we  can  get  an  idea  of  sub- 
stance by  no  way  of  sensation  or  reflection,  &  seems  to  imagine 
that  we  want  a  sense  proper  for  it.  Truly  if  we  had  a  new 
sense  it  could  only  give  us  a  new  idea.     Now  I  suppose  he  will 

*  i.  e.  unperceived  Matter,  with  its  sup-       periods  ?     Why  should  there  be  any  greater 
posed  powers.  difficulty  to  Berkeley  in  these  thui  in  ex- 

^  Nothing  exactly  corresponding  to  this  plaining  the  existence  of  a  table  or  a  booses 

and  the  preceding  in  the  Introduction  or  while  one  is  merely  looking  at  it  ? 

Preface  to  the  Principlts  or  to  the  Dialogues,  ^  Locke,  who   describes    *  substance '  tf 

For  what  is  said  on  faith,   cf.  AlcipbroH,  *  only  an  uncertain  supposition  of  we  koov 

Dial.  VII.,  and  the  Analyst.  not  what.*     Essay,  Bk.  I.  ch.  4.  §  18. 

*  But   what   of  the    earliest    geological 


Commonplace  Book. 


453  j 


not  say  substance,  according  to  him,  is  an  idea.  For  my  part, 
I  own  I  have  no  idea  can  stand  for  substance  in  his  and  the 
Schoolmen's  sense  of  that  word.  But  take  it  in  the  common 
\Tilgar  sense,  &  then  we  sec  and  feel  substance, 

N.B.  That  not  common  usage,  but  the  Schoolmen  coined  the 
word  Existence,  supposed  to  stand  for  an  abstract  general  idea. 

Writers  of  Optics  mistaken  in  their  principles  both  in  judging 
of  magnitudes  and  distances. 

Tis  evident  y'  w"  the  solitary  man  should  be  taught  to  speak,  | 
the  words  would  give  him  no  other  new  ideas  (save  only  the 
sounds,  and  complex  ideas  which,  tho'  unknown  before,  may  be 
signified  by  language)  beside  w'  he  had  before.  If  he  had  not, 
could  not  have,  an  abstract  idea  before,  he  cannot  have  it  after 
be  is  taught  to  speak. 

<  Homo  est  homo,'  &c.  comes  at  last  to  Petms  est  Pctrus,  &c. 
Now,  if  these  identical  propositions  are  sought  afler  in  the 
mind,  they  will  not  be  found.  There  are  no  identical  mental 
propositions.     Tis  all  about  sounds  and  terms. 

Hence  we  see  the  doctrine*  of  certainty  by  ideas,  and  proving 
by  intermediate  ideas,  comes  to  nothing. 

Wc  may  have  certainty  &  knowledge  without  ideas,  i.  e.  without 
other  ideas  than  the  words,  and  their  standing  for  one  idea,  i,  e. 
their  being  to  be  used  indifferently. 

It  seems  to  me  that  we  have  no  certainty  about  ideas,  but 
only  about  words.  'Tis  improper  to  say,  I  am  certain  I  see,  I 
fi^el,  &c.  There  are  no  mental  propositions  form'd  answering  to 
these  words,  &  in  simple  perception  'tis  allowed  by  all  there  is 
no  affirmation  or  negation,  and  consequently  no  certainty  °. 

The  reason  why  we  can  demonstrate  so  well  about  signs  is, 
that  they  are  perfectly  arbitrary  &  in  our  power — made  at  pleasure. 

The  obscure  ambiguous  term  relation,  which  is  said  to  be  the 
largest  field  of  knowledge,  confounds  us,  deceives  us. 


•  Locke,  who    inskH   it   con«rt  in   the 

criterion  of  ihei.  Inilh.     Beikelev'i  phFIo- 

ifeip.'     S<.   E^y.  Bk.  IV.  ch.  4.  i  iB. 

lophy  of  reality  »ai  intended  to  relieve  thi. 

Hoe  like  andent  ind  modem  KCptical  objec- 

' [This   Ktmi   wrong.      Certainty,    real 

tion   riw»— that  if  we  have  no  immediaie 

renainty,   it  of  Koiible  ideii.      I  may  be 

ptTceptinn  of  the  tery  reality,  we  cinnoi 

toaipate  oui  idcat  with  it,  and  v>  have  no 

AtTTHOK.     1'liit  uemi  10  need  qiullficition. 

454  Commonplace  Book. 

Mo.  Let  any  man  shew  me  a  demonstration,  not  verbal,  that  docs 
not  depend  either  on  some  false  principle,  or  at  best  on  some 
principle  of  nature  which  is  y«  effect  of  God's  will,  and  we 
know  not  how  soon  it  may  be  changed. 

L  Qu.    What    becomes    of    the    ietems  veriutes  f      Ans.   They 

vanish  ^®. 

L  But,  say  you,  I  find  it  difficult  to  look  beneath  the  words  and 

uncover  my  ideas.  Say  I,  Use  will  make  it  easy.  In  the  sequel 
of  my  Book  the  cause  of  this  difficulty  shall  be  more  clearly 
made  out. 

I.         To  view  the  deformity  of  error  we  need  onely  undress  it. 

E.  ^  Cogito  ergo  sum.*  Tautology.  No  mental  proposition 
answering  thereto". 

N.        Knowledge,  or  certainty,  or  perception  of  agreement  of  ideas 

Mo.  as  to  identity  and  diversity,  and  real  existence  vanisheth,  of 
relation  becometh  merely  nominal,  of  co-existence  repiainetfa. 
Locke  thought  in  this  later  our  knowledge  was  little  or  nothing. 
Whereas  in  this  only  real  knowledge  seemeth  to  be  found  ^*. 

P.         We  must  w***  the  mob  place  certainty  in  the  senses. 

*Tis  a  man's  duty,  'tis  the  fruit  of  friendship,  to  speak  well  erf 
his  friend.     Wonder  not  therefore  that  I  do  w*  I  do. 

L  A  man  of  slow  parts  may  overtake  truth,  &c.     Introd.     Even 

my  shortsightedness  might  perhaps  be  aiding  to  me  in  this  matter 
— ^'twill  make  me  bring  the  object  nearer  to  my  thoughts.  A  pur- 
blind person,  &c.     Introd. 

S«  Locke  to  Limborch,  &c.     Talk  of  judicium  intellectus  preceding 

the  volition:  I  think  judicium  includes  volition.  I  can  by  no 
means  distinguish  these — -judicium^  intellectus^  indifferentia^  un- 
easiness to  many  things  accompanying  or  preceding  every  volition, 
as  e.  g.  the  motion  of  my  hand. 

g^  Qu.  W*  mean  you  by  my  perceptions,  my  volitions  ?  Both  all 
the  perceptions  I  perceive  or  conceive ^^,  &c.  are  mine;  all  the 
volitions  I  am  conscious  to  are  mine. 

^^  This  and  the  preceding  apparently  re-  "  Not  so,  if  read  zs^^Ego  sum  cogitams. 

solve  all  judgments  which  are  not  what  Kant  "  See  Locke's  Essay,  Bk,  IV.  ch.  x,  and 

calls  analjrtical  into  contingent  judgments.  ch.  3.  §  9.     The  stress  Berkeley  here  lays 

Arc  those  then  which  are  involved  in  Ber-  on  •  co-existence  *  is  significant, 

kelc/s   own  Principle — which  express  the  "  But  is  a  mere  imagination  equivalent 

need  for  activeand  percipient  Mind,  as  the  con-  to  perception,  and  different  from  it  only  in 

stant  correlative,  and  the  only  proper  cause  degree  ? 
in  the  universe — are  those  contingent  too  ? 


Comtnonpldce  Book.  455 

*Homo  est  agens  liberum/  What  mean  they  by  homo  and 
Mgems  in  this  place  ? 

Will  any  man  say  that  brutes  have  the  ideas  —  Unity  & 
Existence  ?  I  believe  not.  Yet  if  they  arc  suggested  by  all  the 
ways  of  sensation,  'tis  strange  they  should  want  them  **. 

It  is  a  strange  thing  and  deserves  our  attention,  that  the  more 
time  and  pains  men  have  consumed  in  the  study  of  philosoj^y, 
by  so  much  the  more  they  look  upon  themselves  to  be  ignorant 
&  weak  creatures.  They  discover  flaws  and  imperfections  in 
their  faculties  wch  other  men  never  spy  out.  They  find  them- 
selves under  a  necessity  of  admitting  many  inconsistent,  irre- 
concilable opinions  for  true.  There  is  nothing  they  touch  with 
their  hand^  or  behold  with  their  eyes^  but  has  its  dark  sides 
much  larger  and  more  numerous  than  w^  is  perceived,  &  at  length 
turn  scepticks,  at  least  in  most  things.  I  imagine  all  this  pro- 
ceeds from,  &c.     £xord.    Introd.** 

These  men  with  a  supercilious  pride  disdain  the  common  single 
information  of  sense.  They  grasp  at  knowledge  by  sheafs  & 
bundles.  ('Tis  well  if,  catching  at  too  much  at  once,  they  hold 
nothing  but  emptiness  &  air.)  They  in  the  depth  of  their  under- 
standing contemplate  abstract  ideas. 

It  seems  not  improbable  that  the  most  comprehensive  &  sublime 
intellects  see  more  m.v.*s  at  once,  i.  e.  that  their  visual  systems 
are  the  largest. 

Words  (by  them  meaning  all  sorts  of  signs)  are  so  necessary, 
that  instead  of  being  (w°  duly  us*d  or  in  their  own  nature)  pre- 
judicial to  the  advancement  of  knowledge,  or  an  hindrance  to 
knowledge,  that  without  them  there  could  in  mathematiques  them- 
selves be  no  demonstration. 

Mem.  To  be  eternally  banishing  Metaphisics,  &c.,  and  recalling 
men  to  Common  Sense  >6. 

We  cannot  conceive  other  minds  besides  our  own  but  as  so 
many  selves.  We  suppose  ourselves  affected  w^  such  &  such 
thoughts  &  such  and  such  sensations  ^'^. 

*•  Cf.  Principles,  sect.  13,  1 10.  to  rid  the  world  of  mere  abstractions,  and  to 

»  Cf.  Principles,  Introduction,  sect.  i.  return,  through  reflection,  to  concrete  reality 

'•  This  is  the  professed  design  of  Berke-  in  its  constant  relation  to  living  Spirit, 

ley's  concrete  metaphysics,  in  which  he  seeks  "  One  sort   of  external   world   that   is 


456  Commonplace  Book. 

S.  Qu.  whether  composition  of  ideas  be  not  that  faculty  which 
chiefly  serves  to  discriminate  us  from  brutes  ?  I  question  whether 
a  brute  does  or  can  imagine  a  blue  horse  or  chimera. 

Naturalists  do  not  distinguish  betwixt  cause    and   occasicm. 
Useful  to  enquire  after  co-existing  ideas  or  occasions. 
Ma     Morality  may  be  demonstrated  as  mixt  mathematics. 
S.         Perception  is  passive,  but  this  not  distinct  from  idea.     There- 
fore there  can  be  no  idea  of  volition. 

Algebraic  species  or  letters  are  denominations  c^  denominations. 
Therefore  Arithmetic  to  be  treated  of  before  Algebra. 

2  crowns  are  called  ten  shillings.  Hence  may  appear  the  value 
of  numbers. 

Complex  ideas  are  the  creatures  of  the  mind.  Hence  may 
appear  the  nature  of  numbers.    This  to  be  deeply  discuss'd. 

I  am  better  informed  &  shall  know  more  by  telling  me  there 
are  10,000  men,  than  by  shewing  me  them  all  drawn  up.  I 
shall  better  be  able  to  judge  of  the  bargain  you'd  have  me  make 
w»  you  tell  me  how  much  (i.  e.  the  name  of  y®)  money  lies  on 
the  table,  than  by  offering  and  shewing  it  without  naming.  I 
regard  not  the  idea,  the  looks,  but  the  names.  Hence  may  appear 
the  nature  of  numbers. 

Children  are  unacquainted  with  numbers  till  they  have  made 
some  progress  in  language.  This  could  not  be  if  they  were  ideas 
suggested  by  all  the  senses. 

Numbers  are  nothing  but  names — never  words. 

Mem.  Imaginary  roots — to  unravel  that  mystery. 

Ideas  of  utility  are  annexed  to  numbers. 

In  arithmetical  problems  men  seek  not  any  idea  of  number. 
They  only  seek  a  denomination.  This  is  all  can  be  of  use  to 
them. 

Take  away  the  signs  from  Arithmetic  and  Algebra,  and  pray  w< 
remains  ? 

These  are  sciences  purely  verbal,  and  entirely  useless  but  for 
practice  in  societies  of  men.  No  speculative  knowledge,  no  com- 
paring of  ideas  in  them  1®. 

conceivable  by  us  is  that  of  which  another  with  them,  in  phjrsical  or  in  moral  scieoce, 

mind   is   percipient — because  we   have  the  ours  become  assimilated  to  them, 

archetype  of  this  in  our  own  experience —  *•  Cf.  Berkeley's  Arithmetica  and  MistJ- 

which,  ex  hypothesis  we  have  not  of  unper-  lanta  Matbematiea^  and  varions  passages  io 

ceived  Matter ;  but  which  wc  may  have  of  his  following  works. 
the  Divine  Ideas,  so  far  as  by  participation 


Commonplace  Book. 


457 


Qu.  whether  Geometry  may  not  properly  be  rcckon'd  amongst 
the  mist  mathematics — Arithmetic  &  Algebra  being  the  only 
abstracted  pure,  i,  e.  entirely  nominal — Geometry  being  an 
application  of  these  to  points"  ? 


I.       Locke   of  Trifling   Propositions,      [b.  4.  c.  ! 
observe  &  con  over  that  chapter. 

Existence,  Extension,  &c.  are  abstract,  i.  e.  no  ideas, 
are  words,  unknown  and  useless  to  the  vulgar. 


Mem.     Well  to 


They 


Sensual  pleasure  is  the  summum  honum.  This  the  great  principle 
of  morality.  This  once  rightly  understood,  all  the  doctrines,  even 
the  severest  of  the  Gospels,  may  clearly  be  demonstrated. 

Sensual  pleasure,  qu5  pleasure,  is  good  &  desirable  by  a  wise 
man*".  But  if  it  be  contemptible,  'tis  not  qu&  pleasure  but  qu4 
pain,  or  cause  of  pain,  or  (which  is  the  same  thing)  of  loss  of 
greater  pleasure. 

W"  I  consider,  the  more  objects  we  see  at  once  the  more 
distant  they  are,  and  that  eye  which  beholds  a  great  many  things 
can  see  none  of  them  near. 

By  idea  I  mean  any  sensible  or  imaginable  thing  ^1. 

To  be  sure  or  certain  of  w'  we  do  not  actually  perceive^  (I  say 
perceive,  not  imagine),  we  must  not  be  altogether  passive,  there 
must  be  a  disposition  to  act,  there  must  be  assent,  w*"*  is  active. 
Nay,  what  do  I  talk!  there  must  be  actual  volition. 

What  do  we  demonstrate  in  Geometry  but  that  lines  are  equal 
or  unequal  ?  i.  c.  may  or  may  not  be  called  by  the  same  name  "'. 

1  approve  of  this  axiom  of  the  Schoolmen, '  Nihil  est  In  intel- 
lectu  quod  non  prius  fuit  in  scnsu.'  I  wish  they  had  stuck  to  it. 
It  had  never  taught  them  the  doctrine  of  abstract  ideas  ^*. 


**  Miaima  muibiJia. 

*  Alt  plcainrci,  711a  plcaturo,  arc  necct- 

■      ■      of  conditiTC   d«irH,  i 
are  of  correlali**  »ya 

H«re  u  Berkclcy'i  dEfinilioa  of  idta 
The  waul  of  Mpacait  leimi  foi  Ihingi  wn- 
nfcic,  and  thingi  imagined  led  to  confation. 


"  e,  g.  of  what  we  believe  in  mediile  or 
acquired  percepiiani. 

"  Hereiieiiewhcre  hersoUci  geometcj'. 
(O  far  ai  dcmoiuiriiife,  into  1  lyrtem  of 
analytical  and  hypothetical  judgmentt;  » 
far  »  copcemed  with  what  it  leal.  into  cort- 
lingent  ]odgirmti. 


45^  Commonplace  Book. 

S.         ^  Nihil  dat  quod  non  habet,'  or,  the  effect  is  contained  in  the 
G.    cause,  is  an  axiom  I  do  not  understand  or  believe  to  be  true. 

E.        Whoever  shall  cast  his  eyes  on  the  writings  of  old  or  new 

philosophers,  and  see  the  noise  is  made  about  formal  and  objective 

Being,  Will,  &c. 
G.        Absurd  to  argue  the  existence  of  God  from  his  idea.     We  have 

no  idea  of  God.    'Tis  impossible  **• 
M.       Cause  of  much  errour  &  confusion  that  men  knew  not  what 
E.     was  meant  by  Reality  *^6. 
I.  Des  Cartes,  in  Med.  2,  says  the  notion  of  this  particular  wax  is 

less  clear  than  that  of  wax  in  general ;  and  in  the  same  Med.,  a 

little  before,  he  forbears  to  consider  bodies  in  general,  because 

(says  he)  these  general  conceptions  are  usually  confused, 
j^^       Des  Cartes,  in  Med.  3,  calls  himself  a  thinking  substance,  and 
S.     a  stone  an  extended  substance ;  and  adds  that  they  both  agree  in 

this,  that  they  are  substances.    And  in  the  next  paragraph  he  calls 

extension  a  mode  of  substance. 
S.         'Tis  commonly  said  by  the  philosophers,  that  if  the  soul  of  man 

were  self-existent  it  would  have  given  itself  all  possible  perfection. 

This  I  do  not  understand. 
Mo.      Mem.     To  excite  men  to  the  pleasures  of  the  eye  &  the  ear, 

which  surfeit  not,  nor  bring  those  evils  after  them,  as  others. 
S,         We  see  no  variety  or  difference  betwixt  the  volitions,  only 

between  their  effects.     Tis  one  Will,  one  Act,  distinguished  by 

the  eflFects.    This  Will,  this  Act,  is  the  spirit,  operative  principle, 

soul,  &c.     No  mention  of  fears  and  jealousies,  nothing  like  a 

party. 
M.        Locke  in  his  4*^^  Book  2'',  and  Des  Cartes  in  Med.  6,  use  the  same 

argument  for  the  existence  of  objects,  viz.  that  sometimes  we  see, 

feci,  &c.  against  our  will. 
S^         While  I  exist  or  have  any  idea,  I  am  eternally,  constantly 

willing;  my  acquiescing  in  the  present  state  is  willing. 
E.    '    The  existence  of  any  thing  imaginable  is  nothing  different  bom 

imagination  or  perception  ^8.    Volition  or  Will,  w***  is   not  im- 

between  Sense  and  Reason,  in  the  preceding  uses  idea — would  imply  that  God  is  a  pbe- 

and  following  sections  of  that  treatise.     But  nomenon. 
how  is  the  statement  consistent  even  with  the  *•  Cf.  Principles,  sect.  89. 

constructive  assumptions  of  the  Principles  f  ^  Ch.  II.  §  5. 

"  To  have  an  idea  of  God — as  Berkeley  **  Why  add — *or  perception*? 


Commonplace  Book.  4, 

'Hginable,  regard  must  not  be  had  to  its  existence    «     «     «    tii 
Book. 

There  are  four  sorts  of  propositions.  '  Gold  is  a  metal ;'  '  Gold 
is  yellow;*  *Gold  is  fiict;'  'Gold  is  not  a  stone' — of  which  the 
£r5t,  second,  and  third  arc  only  nominal,  and  have  no  mental 
propositions  answering  them. 

Mem.  In  vindication  of  the  senses  effectually  to  confute  what 
Des  Cartes  saith  in  the  last  par.  ol^  the  iast  Med.,  viz.  that  the 
senses  oftener  inform  him  falsely  than  tmely — tliat  sense  of  pain 
tells  me  not  my  foot  is  bruised  or  broken,  but  1,  having  frequently 
observed  these  two  ideas,  viz.  of  that  peculiar  pain  and  bruised 
loot  go  tt^ether,  do  erroneously  take  them  to  be  inseparable  by 
8  necessity  of  nature,— as  if  nature  were  anything  but  the  ordin- 
ance of  the  free  will  of  God'^'. 

Des  Cartes  owns  we  know  not  a  substance  immediately  by 
itself,  but  by  this  alone,  that  it  is  the  subject  of  several  acts,  Ans. 
to  a^  objection  of  Hobbs. 

Hobbs  in  some  degree  falls  in  with  Locke,  saying  thought  is 
to  the  mind  or  himself  as  dancing  to  the  dancer.     Object. 

Hobbs  in  his  Object.  3  ridicules  those  expressions  of  the 
scholastiques — 'the  will  wills,'  &c.  So  does  Locke.  I  am  of 
another  mind^". 

Des  Cartes,  in  answer  to  Object,  3  of  Hobbs,  owns  he  is  distinct 
Jfrom  thought  as  a  thing  from  its  modus  or  manner. 

Opinion  that  existence  was  distinct  from  perception  of  horrible 
consequence.     It  is  the  foundation  of  Hobbs's  doctrine,  &c. 

Malbranch  in  his  illustration^'  differs  widely  from  me.  He 
doubts  of  the  existence  of  bodies.  I  doubt  not  in  the  least  of 
this. 

differ  from  Cartesians  in  that  I  make  extension,  colour,  &c. 
to  exist  really  in  bodies  independent  of  our  mind"^.  All  y*  carefully 
and  lucidly  to  be  set  forth. 

Ihuthit 


[a   ihe  coeiiitencei  and  Kqncncei  of  sen- 

mjimlum;  while  w hit  is 

i0>tc    phcaemcni,    the    fivourltc    ihousbt 

icling   \i    the    one    pro 

Which  mni  through  the  Tbtery  0/  rioox, 

pendent,    ion   oi    ictioc 

preTioui  activity. 

«<n1cl. 

"  RKbtrcbt,  t.  19. 

*  Thii    ipioa    the    quibble,     thai     if 

460  Commonplace  Book. 

M.       Not  to  mention  the  combinations  of  powers,  but  to  say  the 
P.     things,  the  eflFects  themselves,  do  really  exist,  even  w"  not  actually 
perceived,  but  still  with  relation  to  perception  ^. 

The  great  use  of  the  Indian  figures  above  the  Roman  shews 
arithmetic  to  be  about  signs,  not  ideas — or  not  ideas  di£Ferent 
from  the  characters  themselves  ^. 

M.       Reasoning  there  may  be  about  things,  or  ideas,  or  actions— but 

N.   demonstration  can  be  only  verbal.     I  question,  no  matter  &c. 

G.  Quoth  Des  Cartes,  the  idea  of  God  is  not  made  by  me,  for  I 
can  neither  add  to  nor  subtract  from  it.  No  more  can  he  add 
to  or  take  from  any  other  idea,  even  of  his  own  making. 

S.  The  not  distinguishing  'twixt  Will  and  ideas  is  a  grand  mistake 
with  Hobbs.  He  takes  those  things  for  nothing  which  are  not 
ideas  ^. 

Ul^  Say  you.  At  this  rate  all's  nothing  but  idea — mere  phantasm. 
I  answer,  Everything  as  real  as  ever.  I  hope  to  call  a  thing  idea 
makes  it  not  the  less  real.  Truly  I  should  perhaps  have  stuck 
to  the  word  thing,  and  not  mentioned  the  word  idea,  were  it  not 
for  a  reason,  and  I  think  a  good  one  too,  which  I  shall  give  in 
the  Second  Book  ^^ 

I.  Idea  is  the  object  or  subject  of  .^thought.     Y*  I  think  on,  what- 

S.  ever  it  be,  I  call  idea.  Thought  itself,  or  thinking,  is  no  idea. 
*Tis  an  act,  i.  e.  volition,  i.  e.  as  contradistinguished  to  effects— 
the  Will. 

I.         Locke,  in  B.  4.  c.  5,  assigns  not  the  right  cause  why  mental 

^^'  propositions  are  so  difficult.  It  is  not  because  of  complex  but 
because  of  abstract  ideas.  Y^  idea  of  a  horse  is  as  complex  as 
that  of  fortitude.  Yet  in  saying  the  ^ horse  is  white*  I  form  a 
mental  proposition  with  ease.  But  when  I  say  *  fortitude  is  a 
virtue,*  I  shall  find  a  mental  proposition  hard,  or  not  at  all  to 
be  come  at. 

S.         Pure  intellect  I  understand  not  ^, 

"  i  e.  to  a  conscious  mind,  but  not  ne-  tivists  as  they  are  now  called, 
cessarily  to  mine ;  for  they  are  independent  *  Is  this  Part  II.  of  the  PrincipUsf 

of  my  will,  and  I  only  participate  in  the  "^  The  thought  of  uncreated  or  necessary 

perception  of  them.  reloHons^  to  which  all  actual  existence  most 

*•  Cf.  the  Aritbmetica.  conform,  but  which  are  realizable  only  in 

"  i.  e.  which  are  not  phenomena.     This  their  actual  applications,  was  not  then  at 

recognition  of  Will  even  then  distinguished  least  in  Berkeley's  mind. 
Berkeley  from  the  phenomeuaUsls,  or  posi- 


Commonplace  Book. 


461 


Locke  is  in  y*  right  in  those  things  wherein  he  differs  from 
)•  Cartesians,  and  they  cannot  but  allow  of  his  opinions  if  they 
stick  to  their  own  principles  or  causes  of  Existence  &  other  ab- 
stract ideas. 

The  properties  of  all  things  are  in  God,  i.  e.  there  is  in  the 
Deity  Understanding  as  well  as  Will.  He  is  no  blind  agent,  and 
in  truth  a  blind  agent  is  a  contradiction ''8. 

I  am  certain  there  is  a  God,  tho'  I  do  not  perceive  Him — have 
no  intuition  of  Him.  This  not  difficult  if  we  rightly  understand 
w'  is  meant  by  certainty. 

It  seems  that  the  soul,  taken  fur  the  Will,  is  immortal,  in- 
corruptible. 

Qu.  whether  perception  must  of  necessity  precede  volition  ? 

Error  is  not  in  tlie  Understanding,  but  in  the  Will.  What  I 
understand  or  perceive,  that  I  understand.  There  can  be  no 
errour  in  this.  1 

Mem.  To  take  notice  of  Locke's  woman  afraid  of  a  wetting,  in  I 
the  Introd.,  to  shew  there  may  be  reasoning  about  ideas  or  things- 
Say  Des  Cartes  &  Malbranch,  God  hath  given  us  strong 
inciinatioDS  to  think  our  ideas  proceed  from  bodies,  or  that  bodies 
do  exist.  Pray  w'  mean  they  by  this  ?  Would  they  have  it  that 
the  ideas  of  imagination  are  images  of,  and  proceed  from,  the 
ideas  of  sense?  This  is  true,  but  cannot  be  their  meaning,  for 
they  speak  of  ideas  of  sense  themselves  as  proceeding  from,  being 
like  unto — I  know  not  w'  3*. 

Cartcsius  per  ideam  vult  omne  id  quod  habet  esse  objectivum 
in  intellectu.     V.  Tract,  de  Methodo. 

Qu.  May  there  not  be  an  Understanding  without  a  Will  ? 

Understanding  is  in  some  sort  an  action. 

Silly  of  Hobbs,  &c.  to  speak  of  the  Will  as  if  it  were  motion, 
with  which  it  has  no  likeness. 

Ideas  of  sense  are  the  real  things  or  archetypes.  Ideas  of 
imagination,  dreams,  &c.  are  copies,  images  of  these. 

My  doctrines  rightly  understood,  all  that  philosophy  of  Epicurus, 

"  Thii  luamplion  ii  the  csMnce  of  Bci-  mg  foi  1  diTcct  prmpliDri  of  tomt  of  the 

kdejr't   philofophy — ■»   blind   ageni    ii    a  phenomena  of  which  a  ■  pei«iv«il '  Miuible 

coolrnliEIiuo.'  ihiiig  u  eompoied.                                                 . 

•  Thii  ii  the  baiii  of  B<rk«lF>'i  rtiion-  J 


462 


Commonplace  Book. 


Hobbs,  Spinosa,  Sco,  which  has  been  a  declared  enemy  of  religion, 
comes  to  the  ground. 

G.  Hobbs  &  Spinosa  make  God  extended.  Locke  also  seems  to 
do  the  same  *^. 

l^         £ns,  res,  aliquid  dicuntur  termini  transcendentales.     Spinosa, 

£•  p.  76,  prop.  40,  £th«  part  2,  gives  an  odd  account  of  their  original. 
Also  of  the  original  of  all  universals — Homo,  Canis,  &c. 

G.  Spinosa  (vid.  Praef.  Opera  Posthum.)  will  have  God  to  be 
^  omnium  rerum  causa  immanens,'  and  to  countenance  this  pro- 
duces that  of  St.  Paul,  ^  in  Him  we  live,*  &c.  Now  this  of  St. 
Paul  may  be  explained  by  my  doctrine  as  well  as  Spinosa's,  or 
Locke's,  or  Hobbs*s,  or  Raphson*s  **,  &c. 

S,  The  Will  is  purus  actus^  or  rather  pure  spirit  not  imaginable^  not 
sensible,  not  intelligible,  in  no  wise  the  object  of  the  understand- 
ing, no  wise  perceivable. 

S.  Substance  of  a  spirit  is  that  it  acts,  causes,  wills,  operates,  or 
if  you  please  (to  avoid  the  quibble  y*  may  be  made  of  the  word 
<  it ')  to  act,  cause,  will,  operate.  Its  substance  is  not  knowable^ 
not  being  an  idea. 

G.  Why  may  we  not  conceive  it  possible  for  God  to  create  things 
out  of  nothing  ?  Certainly  we  ourselves  create  in  some  wise  when- 
ever we  imagine. 
E.  ^  Ex  nihilo  nihil  fit.'  This  (saith  Spinoza,  Opera  Posth.  p.  464) 
N.  and  the  like  are  called  veritates  atema^  because  ^  nullam  fidem 
habent  extra  mentem.*  To  make  this  axiom  have  a  positive 
signification,  one  should  express  it  thus :  Every  idea  has  a  cause, 
i.  e.  is  produced  by  a  Will  **. 

P.  The  philosophers  talk  much  of  a  distinction  'twixt  absolute  & 
relative  things,  or  'twixt  things  considered  in  their  own  nature 
&  the  same  things  considered  with  respect  to  us.     I  know  not 


^  Berkeley's  horror  of  absolute  space  and 
atoms  is  partly  explained  by  now  antiquated 
dogmas  oi  his  age,  in  natural  philosophy. 

"  Ralph  [?]  Raphson,  author  of  Demon- 
siratio  de  Deo  (1710),  and  also  of  De  Spatio 
Realif  sen  ente  Infinito :  eonamen  maibe' 
matieo-metapbysicum  (1697),  to  which  Ber- 
keley refers  in  one  of  hU  \eltcis  \o  Johufon. 


Cf.  p.  177.     See  also  Green's  Prindpies  c/ 
Natural  PbUosopby  (1711). 

**  It  is  then  and  thus  only  that  thii 
truism  can  become  applicable.  Note  hert 
Berkeley's  version  of  the  causal  axiom, 
which  is  really  the  constitutive  principle  of 
his  whole  philosophy — viz.  every  |d)enom^ 
non  is  sustained  by  a  free  intelligent  agent. 


Commonplace  Book.  463 

w*  they  mean  by  ^things  considered  in  themselves.*     This  is 
nonsense,  jargon. 

It  seems  there  can  be  no  perception — no  idea — without  Will, 
seeing  there  are  no  ideas  so  indiflFerent  but  one  had  rather  have 
them  than  annihilation,  or  annihilation  than  them.  Or  if  there 
be  such  an  equal  balance,  there  must  be  an  equal  mixture  of 
pleasure  and  pain  to  cause  it — there  being  no  ideas  perfectly 
void  of  all  pain  &  uneasiness  but  w^  are  preferable  to  anni- 
hilation. 

Recipe  in  animum  tuum,  per  cogitationem  vehementem,  rerum 
ipsarum,  non  literarum  aut  sonorum  imagines.  Hobbs  against 
Wallis.  , 

Tis  a  perfection  we  may  imagine  in  superior  spirits,  that  they 
can  see  a  great  deal  at  once  with  the  utmost  clearness  and  dis- 
tinction, whereas  we  can  only  see  a  point  *^ 

Mem.  W»  I  treat  of  mathematiques  to  enquire  into  the  con- 
troversy 'twixt  Hobbes  and  Wallis. 

Every  sensation  of  mine  which  happens  in  consequence  of  the 
general  known  laws  of  nature,  &  is  from  without,  i.  e.  inde- 
pendent of  my  will,  demonstrates  the  being  of  a  God,  i.  e.  of 
an  unextended,  incorporeal  spirit,  which  is  omnipresent,  omni- 
potent, &c. 

I  say  not  with  J.  S.  [John  Sergeant]  that  we  see  solids.  I  reject 
his  ^ solid  philosophy* — solidity  being  only  perceived  by  touch ^4. 

It  seems  to  me  that  will  and  understanding — volitions  &  ideas 
— cannot  be  severed,  that  either  cannot  be  possibly  without  the 
other. 

Some  ideas  or  other  I  must  have,  so  long  as  I  exist  or  will. 
But  no  one  idea  or  sort  of  ideas  being  essential. 

The  distinction  between  idea  and  ideatum  I  cannot  otherwise 
conceive  than  by  making  one  the  effect  or  consequence  of  dream. 


*»  So  Locke  on  a  perfect  memory.   Eztay^  Method  to  SeUnce  (1696).     He  was  a  de- 

Bk.  IT.  ch.  X.  §  9.  lerter  from  the  Church  of  England  to  the 

••  John  Sergeant  was  the  author  of  Solid  Church  of  Rome,  and  wrote  several  pieces 

Pbilosopby  asserted  against  the  Fancies  0/  in  defence  of  Roman   theology—some  of 

the  Ideists  (London,  1697);    also  of  The  them  in  controversy  with  TtUotson. 


464  Commonplace  Book. 

reverie,  imagination — the  other  of  sense  and  the  constant  laws 
of  nature. 

P.         Dico  quod  extensio  non  concipitur  in  se  et  per  se,  contra  quam 

dicit  Spinoza  in  Epist.  2*  ad  Oldenburgium. 
G.        My  definition  of  the  word  God  I  think  much  clearer  than  that 

of  Des  Cartes  &  Spinoza,  viz.  <  Ens  summe  perfectum  &  absolute 

infinitum,'  or  ^Ens  constans  infinitis  attributis,  quorum  unum- 

quodque  est  infinitum  ^.' 

Tis  chiefly  the  connexion  betwixt  tangible  and  visible  ideas 
that  deceives,  and  not  the  visiSle  ideas  themselves. 

S.  But  the  grand  mistake  is  that  we  know  not  what  we  mean 
by  *  we,'  or  ^  selves,*  or  ^  mind,*  &c.  Tis  most  sure  &  certain 
that  our  ideas  are  distinct  from  the  mind,  i.  e.  the  Will,  the 
Spirit. 

S.  I  must  not  mention  the  understanding  as  a  faculty  or  part  of 
the  mind.  I  must  include  understanding  &  will  in  the  word 
Spirit — by  which  I  mean  all  that  is  active.  I  must  not  say  that 
the  understanding  differs  not  from  the  particular  ideas,  or  the 
will  from  particular  volitions. 

S.         The  Spirit,  the  Mind,  is  neither  a  volition  nor  an  idea. 

N.        I   say  there  are   no  causes   (properly  speaking)   but   spiritual, 

S-  nothing  active  but  Spirit.  Say  you.  This  is  only  verbal^  'tis  only 
annexing  a  new  sort  of  signification  to  the  word  cause— &  why 
may  not  otl^rs  as  well  retain  the  old  one,  and  call  one  idea 
the  cause  of  another  which  always  follows  it  ?  I  answer.  If  you 
do  so  I  shall  drive  you  into  many  absurditys.  I  say  you  cannot 
avoid  running  into  opinions  you'll  be  glad  to  disown,  if  you  stick 
firmly  to  that  signification  of  the  word  cause. 


Mo.  In  valuing  good  we  reckon  too  much  on  the  present  &  oar 
own. 

Mo.  There  be  two  sorts  of  pleasure.  The  one  is  ordained  as  a  spar 
or  incitement  to  somewhat  else,  &  has  a  visible  relation  and 
subordination  thereto;  the  other  is  not.     Thus  the  pleasure  of 

^  See  Des  CaUet,  MdditalionSf  III ;  Spinoza,  Epist,  11,  ad  Oldeoburgiozn. 


h 


). 


Commonplace  Book.  4^5    ] 

eating  is  of  the  former  sort,  of  musick  of  the  later  sort.     These    J 
may  be  used  for  recreation,  those  not  but  in  order  to  their  end.  ] 

Three  sorts  of  useful  knowledge — tliat   of  coexistence,  to  be    I 
treated  of  in  our  Principles  ofNatural  Philosophy;  that  of  relation 
in  Mathematiques ;  that  of  definition,  or  inclusion,  or  words  (which 
perhaps  diiFers  not  from  that  of  relation)  in  Morality. 

Will,  understanding,  desire,  hatred,  ficc,  so  far  forth  as  they    1 
arc  acts  or  active,  differ   not.     All  their  difference  consists  in 
their  objects,  circumstances,  &c. 

We  must  carefully  distinguish  betwixt  two  sorts  of  causes — 
physical  &  spiritual. 

Those  may  more  properly  be  called  occasions.  Yet  {to  comply) 
we  may  call  them  causes — but  then  we  must  mean  causes  yt  do 
nothing. 

According  to  Locke,  we  must  be  in  an  eternal  uneasiness  so 
long  as  we  live,  bating  the  time  of  sleep  or  trance,  gccj  for  he 
will  have  even  the  continuance  of  an  action  to  be  in  his  sense 
an  action,  £c  so  requires  a  volition,  &  this  an  uneasiness. 

I  must  not  pretend  to  pronyse  much  of  demonstration.  I  must 
cancell  all  passages  that  look  like  that  sort  of  pride,  that  raising 
of  expectation  in  my  friend. 

If  this  be  the  case,  surely  a  man  had  better  not  philosophize 
at  all ;  no  more  than  a  deformed  person  oi^ht  to  cavil  to  behold 
himself  by  the  reflex  light  of  a  mirrour. 

Or  thus,  like  deformed  persons  who,  having  beheld  themselves 
by  the  reflex  light  of  a  mirrour,  as  displeased  with  their  diseases. 

What  can  an  idea  be  like  but  another  idea?  We  can  compare 
it  with  nothing  else — a  sound  like  a  sound,  a  colour  like  a  colour.    , 

Is  it  not  nonsense  to  say  a  smell  is  like  a  thing  which  cannot    > 
be  smelt,  a  colour  is  like  a  thing  wh  cannot  be  seen? 

Bodies  exist  without  the  mind,  i.  e.  are  not  the  mind,  but  distinct 
from  it.  This  I  allow,  the  mind  being  altt^ether  ditFerent  there- 
from. 

Certainly  we  should  not  see  motion  if  there  was  no  diversity  of 
colours. 

VOL.  IV.  H  h 


466  Commonplace  Book. 

P.         Motion  is  an  abstract  idea,  i.  e.  there  is  no  such  idea  that  can 

be  conceived  by  itself. 
I.         Contradictions  cannot  be  both  true.   Men  are  obliged  to  answer 

objections  drawn  from  consequences.     Introd. 
S.         The  Will  and  Volition   are  words   not  used   by  the  vulgar. 

The  learned  are  bantered  by  their  meaning  abstract  ideas. 
Speculative  Math,  as  if  a  man  was  all  day  making  hard  knots 

on  purpose  to  unty  them  again. 

Tho*  it  might  have  been  otherwise,  yet  it  is  convenient  the 

same  thing  wd»  is  M.  V.  should  be  also  M.  T.,  or  very  near  it. 
S.         I  must  not  give  the  soul  or  mind  the  scholastique  name  ^  pure 

act,'  but  rather  pure  spirit,  or  active  being. 
S.         I  must  not  say  the  Will  or  Understanding  are  all  one,  but  that 

they  are  both  abstract  ideas,  i.  e.  none  at  all — they  not  being  even 

rMtiOMt  different  from  the  spirit,  qua  faculties,  or  active. 
S.         Dangerous  to  make   idea  &  thing  terms  convertible.     That 

were  the  way  to  prove  spirits  are  nothing. 
Mo,     Qu.  whether  veritss  stands  not  for  an  abstract  idea  ? 

M.  *Tis  plain  the  modems  must  by  their  own  principles  own  there 
are  no  bodies,  i.  e.  no  sort  of  bodies  without  the  mind,  i.  e  unpcr- 
ceived. 

S.         Qu.  whether  the  Will  can  be  the  object  of  prescience  or  any 

G.    knowledge  ? 

P.  If  there  were  only  one  ball  in  the  world,  it  could  not  be  moved. 
There  could  be  no  variety  of  appearance. 

According  to  the  doctrine  of  infinite  divisibility,  there  must  be 
some  smell  of  a  rose,  v.  g.  at  an  infinite  distance  fix)m  it. 

M.  •  Extension,  tho*  it  exist  only  in  the  mind,  yet  is  no  property  of 
the  mind.  The  mind  can  exist  without  it,  tho*  it  cannot  without 
the  mind  *«.  But  in  Book  II.  I  shall  at  large  shew  the  diflference 
there  is  betwixt  the  soul  and  body  or  extended  being 

S.  Tis  an  absurd  question  w*^'*  Locke  puts,  whether  man  be  free  to 
will? 

^  This  is  one  way   in   which   Berkeley  scions  mind.    Does  not  Ferrier  miscoocdTC 

expresses  the  subordination  of  sensible  things  him   here  ?      See    his    JnstituUt   of  Mtta- 

to  mind  :   conscious  mind  is  possible  in  the  pbysies,  pp.  389 — 390,  where  he  sajrs  that 

absence  of  all  that  is  sensible,  but  sensible  Berkeley's  ontology  invests  the  Deity  with 

phenomena  are  not  pos&\b\e  vnthout  con-  such  senses  as  belong  to  man. 


Contmotiplace  Book, 


467 


Mem.     To  enquire  into  the  reason  of  the  rule  for  determining  | 
questions  in  Algebra. 

it  has  already  been  observed  by  others  that  names  are  nowhere  1 
of  more  necessary  use  than  in  numbering,  ( 

I  will  grant  you  that  extension,  colour,  &c.  may  be  said  to  be   ' 
without  the  mind  in  a  double  respect,  i.  c.  as  independent  of  our 
will,  and  as  distinct  from  the  mind  ". 
).      Certainly  it  is  not  impossible  but  a  man  may  arrive  at  the 
knowledge  of  all  real  truth  as  well  without  as  with  signs,  had  he 
a  memory  and  imagination  most  strong  and  capacious.    Therefore    , 
reasoning  &  science  doth  not  altogether  depend  upon  words  or 


I  think  not  that  things  fall  out  of  necessity.  The  connexion  of 
no  two  ideas  is  necessary,  'tis  all  the  result  of  freedom,  i.  e.  'tis 
all  voluntary  *''. 

If  a  man  with  his  eyes  shut  imagines  to  himself  the  sun  & 
firmament,  you  will  not  say  he  or  his  mind  is  the  sun  or  extended,    1 
tho*  neither  sun  or  firmament  be  without  his  mind^".  , 

'Tis  strange  to  find  philosophers  doubting  &  disputing  whether    ■ 
they  have  ideas  of  spiritual  things  or  no.     Surely  'tis  easy  to  know. 
Vid.  De  Vries  *•,  l>t  Ide'is  Innatis,  p.  64. 

Dc  Vries  will  have  it  that  we  know  the  mind  agrees  with  things 
not  by  idea  but  sense  or  conscientia.  So  will  Malbranch.  This 
a  vain  distinction. 


August  28th,  1708.     The  Adventure  of  the  [Shirt?]. 


It  were  to  be  wished  that  persons  of  the  greatest  birth,  honour, 
&  fortune,  would  take  that  care  of  themselves  by  education, 
industry,  literature,  &  a  love  of  virtue,  to  surpass  aU  other  men  ■ 


'  Thu  double  diiililT,  with  tome  ndlU- 

tion  of  «prei.ion.  rent  through  B«tke!ty. 
•    BcAcIej  .Iwiri  iniirti  &M  we  ihould 

ceptiDD  doei  not  imply  tliil  eitention  it  m 

kMP  otu  Ihinking  »  much  ai  posiible  in- 

tuhire  or  the  >ndi>i<Iuil  ob)«li  -bfch  our 

on  whit  Btrkerej-  meiui  by  ihe  exitltnce  of 

«rotd>  denote—'  ipiii  eontueicere  rebui,"  lu 

icnie-iileiii   'in   i  mind— th»l  im*  gmrrit 

BacoD  071,— to    aape     the    dsngen    of 

rcliiion.     But   hii   language  here  lendt  to 

■itiGcial    rign..      Thi.   it   the    drift   of  hi> 

confu«  perception  with  iiiiB|pn»tion. 

■ttacki  on  >bili»ct  ide»i. 

"  Genrd  De  Vriet.  the  Ctnaixa. 

468  Commonplace  Book. 

in  knowledge  &  all  other  qualifications  necessary  for  great  actions 
as  far  as  they  do  in  qua  ity  &  titles;  that  princes  out  of  them 
might  always  chose  men  fit  for  all  employments  and  high  trusts. 
Clov.  B.  7.  

One  eternity  greater  than  another  of  the  same  kind. 
In  what  sense  eternity  may  be  limited. 
G.  T.      Whether  succession  dF  ideas  in  the  Divine  intellect  ? 
T.        Time,  train  of  ideas  succeeding  each  other. 
Duration  not  distinguished  from  existence. 
Succession  explained  by  before,  between,  after,  &  numbering. 
Why  time  in  pain  longer  than  time  in  pleasure  ? 
Duration  infinitely  divisible,  time  not  sa 
T.        The  same  to  vvv  not  common  to  all  intelligences. 

Time  thought  infinitely  divisible  on  account  of  its  measure. 
Extension  not  infinitely  divisible  in  one  sense. 
Revolutions  immediately   measure   train  of  ideas,   mediately 
duration. 
T.        Time  a  sensation,  therefore  onely  in  y«  mind. 

Eternity  is  onely  a  train  of  innumerable  ideas.  Hence  the 
immortality  of  y«  soul  easily  conceived,  or  rather  the  immortality 
of  the  person,  that  of  y«  soul  not  being  necessary  for  oi^t  we 
can  see. 

Swiftness  of  ideas  compared  with  y*  of  motions  shews  the  wisdom 
of  God. 

W*  if  succession  of  ideas  were  swifter,  w*  if  slower  ? 
M.       ffall  of  Adam,  use  of  idolatry,  use  of  Epicurism  &  Hobbism, 
dispute  about   divisibility  of  matter,  &c.  expounded  by  material 
substances. 

Extension  a  sensation,  therefore  not  without  the  mind. 
M.       In  the  immaterial  hypothesis,  the  wall  is  white,  fire  hot,  fix. 

Primary  ideas  proved  not  to  exist  in  matter,  after  the  same 
manner  y*  secondary  ones  are  proved  not  to  exist  therein. 

Demonstrations  of  the  infinite  divisibility  of  extension  suppose 
length  without  breadth,  or  invisible  length,  w^^  is  absurd. 
M.        World  w**k)ut  thought  is  nee  quid^  nee  quantum^  nee  f  w/f,  &c. 
M.      *Tis  wondrous  to  contemplate  y«  World  empty'd  of  intelligences^. 

"  Of  all  mind — Divine  and  finite  ? 


Commonplace  Book.  469 

Nothing  properly  but  Persons,  i.  e.  conscious  things,  do  exist. 
All  other  things  are  not  so  much  existences  as  manners  of  y« 
existence  of  persons  *^. 

Qu.  about  the  soul,  or  rather  person,  whether  it  be  not  com- 
pleatly  known  ? 

Infinite  divisibility  of  extension  does  suppose  the  external  ex- 
istence of  extension ;  but  the  later  is  false,  ergo  y*  former  also. 

Qu.  Blind  man  made  to  see,  would  he  know  motion  at  i"^ 
sight  ? 

Motion,  figure,  and  extension  perceivable  by  sight  are  di£Ferent 
from  those  ideas  perceived  by  touch  w^**  goe  by  the  same  name. 

Diagonal  incommensurable  w^^  y*  side.     Quasre  how  this  can 
be  in  my  doctrine  ? 
N.       Qu.  how  to  reconcile  Newton's  a  sorts  of  motion  with  my 
doctrine  ? 

Terminations  of  surfaces  &  lines  not  imaginable  per  se. 
Molyneux's  blind  man  would  not  know  the  sphere  or  cube  to 
be  bodies  or  extended  at  first  sight  **. 

Extension  so  far  from  being  incompatible  w*^*,  y*  'tis  impossible 
it  should  exist  without  thought. 
M.        Extension  itself  or  anything  extended  cannot  think — these  being 
^'     meer  ideas  or  sensations,  whose  essence  we  thoroughly  know. 

No  extension  but  surface  perceivable  by  sight. 
M.        W°  we  imagine  %  bowls  v.  g.  moving  in  vacuo,  'tis  only  con- 
ceiving a  person  affected  with  these  sensations. 
M.        Extension  to  exist  in  a  thoughtless  thing  [or  rather  in  a  thing, 
void  of  perception — ^thought  seeming  to  imply  action],  is  a  con- 
tradiction. 

Qu.  if  visible  motion  be  proportional  to  tangible  motion  ? 
T.        In  some  dreams  succession  of  ideas  swifter  than  at  other  times. 
M.        If  a  piece  of  matter  have  extension,  that  must  be  determined 
to  a  particular  bigness  &  figure,  but  6cc. 

Nothing  corresponds  to  our  primary  ideas  wt^out  ^^  but  powers. 
Hence  a  direct  &  brief  demonstration  of  an  active  powerfiill 
Being  distinct  from  us,  on  whom  we  depend. 

"  Is  an  extended  thing,  then,  a  mode  in  "  Does  '  without'  mean  here  independent 

which  a  person  exists  ?  of  our  will,  or  distinct  from  our  perception, 

**  See  Locke's  Essay,  Bk.  II.  ch.  9.  §  8.  or  both  ? 


470  Commonplace  Book. 

The  name  of  colours  actually  given  to  tangible  qualities  by 
the  relation  of  ]r^  story  of  the  German  CounL 

Qu.  How  came  visible  &  tangible  qualities  by  the  same  name 
in  all  languages  ? 

Qu.  Whether  Being  might  not  be  the  substance  of  the  soul,  or 
(otherwise  thus)  whether  Being,  added  to  y«  faculties,  compleat  the 
real  essence  and  adequate  definition  of  the  soul  ? 

N.  Qu.  Whether,  on  the  supposition  of  external  bodies,  it  be  pos- 
sible for  us  to  know  that  any  body  is  absolutely  at  rest,  since 
that  supposing  ideas  much  slower  than  at  present,  bodies  now 
apparently  moving  w'  then  be  apparently  at  rest  ? 

M.       Qu.  What  can  be  like  a  sensation  but  a  sensation  ? 

Qu.  Did  ever  any  man  see  any  other  things  besides  his  own 
ideas,  that  he  should  compare  them  to  these,  and  make  these  like 
unto  them  ? 

T.  The  age  of  a  fly,  for  ought  that  we  know,  may  be  as  long  as 
y<  of  a  man. 

Visible  distance  heterogeneous  ftt)m  tangible  distance  demon- 
strated 3  several  ways  : — 

I"*.  If  a  tangible  inch  be  equal  or  in  any  other  reason  to  a 
visible  inch,  thence  it  will  follow  y*  unequals  are  equals,  w«J»  is 
absurd :  for  at  what  distance  would  the  visible  inch  be  placed  to 
make  it  equal  to  the  tangible  inch  ? 

%\  One  made  to  see  that  had  not  yet  seen  his  own  limbs,  or 
any  thing  he  touched,  upon  sight  of  a  foot  length  would  know 
it  to  be  a  foot  length,  if  tangible  foot  &  visible  foot  were  the 
same  idea — sed  falsum  id,  ergo  et  hoc. 

3**y.  From  Molyneux's  problem,  w<^  otherwise  is  falsely  solved 
by  Locke  and  him. 

M.       Nothing  but  ideas  perceivable  ^^ 

A  man  cannot  compare  %  things  together  without  perceiving 
them  each.  Ergo,  he  cannot  say  anything  w<*  is  not  an  idea  ^  is 
like  or  unlike  an  idea. 

^  To  perceive  what  is  not  an  idea  (as  "^  i.  e.  a  something  perceived.     He  refers 

Berkeley  uses  idea)  is  to  perceive  what  is       here  to  the  sceptical  objection, 
not  perceived,  which  is  a  contradictioni 


Commonplace  Book.  i 

Bodies  &c.  do  exist  even  w  not  perceived — they  being  powers  i 
in  the  active  being  ■''*. 


an  abstract,  i.  e.  an  I 


Succession  a  simple  idea,  [succession   i 
inconceivable  idea,]  Locke  says'^ 

Visible  extension  is  [proportional  to  tangible  extension,  also  is] 
eocreatcd  &  diminish'd  by  parts.     Hence  taken  for  the  same, 

1/  extension  be  without  the  mind  in  bodies,  Qu.  whether  tangible 
or  visible,  or  both? 

Mathematical  propositions  about  extension  &  motion  true  in 
a  double  sense. 

Extension  thought  peculiarly  inert  because  not  accompany'd  W* 
pleasure  &  pain;  hence  thought  to  exist  in  matter,  as  also  for 
that  it  was  conceived  common  to  a  senses,  [as  also  the  constant 
perception  of 'em]. 

Blind  at  p'  sight  could  not  tell  how  near  what  he  saw  was  to 
him,  nor  even  whether  it  be  wtiwut  him  or  in  his  eye  *",  Qu.  Would 
he  not  think  the  later  ? 

Blind  at  i"'  sight  could  not  know  y'  wi  he  saw  was  extended  ^ 
until  be  had  seen  and  touched  some  one  sell^me  thing — not 
knowing  how  mmimum  langitile  would  look. 

Mem.  That  homogeneous  particles  be  brought  in  to  answer  the 
objection  of  God's  creating  sun,  plants,  &c.  before  animals. 

In  every  bodie  two  infinite  scries  of  extension — the  one  of 
tangible,  the  other  of  visible. 

All  things  to  a  blind  [man]  at  first  seen  in  a  point. 

Ignorance  of  glasses  made  men  think  extension  to  be  in  bodies. 

Homogeneous  portions  of  matter — useful  to  contemplate  them. 

Extension  if  in  matter  changes  its  relation  wti"  mhimum  visibilty 
w=l>  seems  to  be  fixt. 

Qu.  whether  m.  v.  be  fix'd  ? 

Each  particle  of  matter  if  extended  must  be  infinitely  extended, 
or  have  an  infinite  series  of  extension. 

teob'il   cxitteacc    in    uie    Diiiiw 
ThooghL  tveo  if  there  wtre  »  cc 
all  finile  Knic-coDKiouincM— in  the  iatel- 
lectiul  aod  lupciKniiUe  ictivily  of  God. 

-  Wiih  Berkeley,  time  or  mccewion  ii 
tbmgt.  and  (H>,cilled)  time,  abitnctcd  from 
(nncietc  ehanga.  u  ibiutd. 


"  "In  hit  eye.' — nther,  1 
all  ibit  ii  leniible.  oiginic  oi 
How  could  he  know.  Id  weirg,  propeny 
ailed,  which  ii  i  purely  conttidui  ila 
ihit  TJiual  conKiouineii  wat  coanected  w 
an  organiim  7 

"i.e.  tangibly  oi  leallf  extended. 


I 


472  Camnumplace  Book. 

M.  If  the  world  be  granted  to  consist  of  Matter,  'tis  the  mind  gives 
it' beauty  and  proportion. 

W<  I  have  said  onely  proves  there  is  no  proportion  at  all  times 
and  in  all  men  between  a  visible  &  tangible  inch. 

Tangible  and  visible  extension  heterogeneous,  because  they  have 

no  common  measure ;  also  because  their  simplest  constituent  parts 

or  elements  are  specifically  difiFerent,  viz.  functum  wsMk  &  Um^ 

pUU.    N.B.  The  former  seems  to  be  no  good  reason. 

^*       By  immateriality  is  solv'd  the  cohesion  of  bodies,  or  rather  the 

•   dispute  ceases. 

Our  idea  we  call  extension  neither  way  capable  of  infinity,  i.  e. 
neither  infinitely  small  or  great. 

Greatest  possible  extension  seen  under  an  angle  wch  will  be  less 
than  1 80  degrees,  the  legs  of  wch  angle  proceed  from  the  ends  of 
the  extension. 
N.  Allowing  there  be  extended,  solid  &c.  substances  without  the 
mind,  'tis  impossible  the  mind  should  know  or  perceive  them ;  the 
mind,  even  according  to  the  materialists,  perceiving  onely  the 
impressions  made  upon  its  brain,  or  rather  the  ideas  attending 
these  impressions. 

Unity  in  ahstracto  not  at  all  divisible,  it  being  as  it  were  a 
point,  or  with  Barrow  nothing  at  all  j  in  concreto  not  divisible  ad 
infinitum^  there  being  no  one  idea  demonstrable  adinfimtmm. 
M.        Any  subject  can  have  of  each  sort  of  primary  qualities  but  one 
particular  at  once.     Locke,  b.  4.  c.  3.  s.  15. 

Qu.  whether  we  have  clear  ideas  of  large  numbers  themselves, 
or  onely  of  their  relations  ? 

Of  solidity  see  L.  b.  2.  c.  4.  s.  i,  5,  6.  If  any  one  ask  w* 
solidity  is,  let  him  put  a  flint  between  his  hands  and  he  will 
know  «*.  Extension  of  body  is  continuity  of  solid,  &c. ;  extension 
of  space  is  continuity  of  unsolid,  &c. 

Why  may  not  I  say  visible  extension  is  a  continuity  of  visible 
points,  tangible  extension  is  a  continuity  of  tangible  points? 

m*  Mem.  That  I  take  notice  that  I  do  not  fall  in  wth  sceptics, 
Fardella  ®,  &c.,  in  that  I  make  bodies  to  exist  certainly,  wch  they 
doubt  of. 

*^  Berkeley  uses  Solidity  in  more  than  one       philosopher  Farddia   (1650-^1718)  nuin- 

fneaning.  tained,  by  reasonings  akin  to  those  of  Male- 

^  The  Italian  physical  and  meUvV^ucaiX     \ti%cicVv<t^  that  the  existence  of  the  material 


M. 


Cammanplace  Book.  473 

I  am  more  certain  of  y«  existence  &  reality  of  bodies  than 
Mr.  Locke,  since  he  pretends  onely  to  w^  he  calls  sensitive  know- 
ledge, whereas  I  think  I  have  demonstrative  knowledge  of  their 
existence — by  them  meaning  combinations  of  powers  in  an  un- 
known substratum. 

Our  ideas  we  call  figure  &  extension,  not  images  of  the  figure 
and  extension  of  matter;  these  (if  such  there  be)  being  infinitely 
divisible,  those  not  so. 

Tis  impossible  a  material  cube  should  exist,  because  the  edges 
of  a  cube  will  appear  broad  to  an  acute  sense. 

Men  die  or  are  in  [a]  state  of  annihilation  oft  in  a  day. 

Powers.    Qu.  whether  more  or  one  onely  ? 

Lengths  abstract  from  breadths  are  the  work  of  the  mind.  Such 
do  intersect  in  a  point  at  all  angles.  After  the  same  way  colour 
is  abstract  from  extension. 

Every  position  alters  the  line. 

Qu.  whether  ideas  of  extension  are  made  up  of  other  ideas, 
v.g.  idea  of  a  foot  made  up  of  general  ideas  of  an  inch  ? 

The  idea  of  an  inch  length  riot  one  determined. idea.  Hence 
enquire  the  reason  why  we  are  out  in  judging  of  extension  by 
the  sight,  for  which  purpose  'tis  meet  also  to  consider  the  frequent 
&  sudden  changes  of  extension  by  position. 

No  stated  ideas  of  length  without  a  minimum. 

Material  substance  bantered  by  Locke,  b.  2.  c.  13.  s.  19. 

In  my  doctrine  all  absurdities  from  infinite  space  &c.  cease  ®^. 

Qu.  whether  if  (speaking  grossly)  the  things  we  see  were  all  of 
them  at  all  times  too  small  to  be  felt,  we  should  have  confounded 
tangible  &  visible  extension  and  figure  ? 

Qu.  whether  if  succession  of  ideas  in  the  Eternal  Mind,  a  day 


world  could  not  be  proved  by  reason,  and  For,  when  a  phenomenon  given   in   tense 

could  only  be  maintained  by  faith  in  rere-  reaches   the  mmimum  smsibiU,  it  reaches 

btion.     See  his  Unhersa  Pbilosopbia  Sys-  the  margin  of    its  possible  existence :    it 

iema   (1690),    and    especially  his   Logica  cannot  be  infinitely  little :  insensible  sensa- 

(1606).  tions  cannot  exist.    And  so  too  of  the  in- 

**  He  eliminates  the  qnantitatus  infinite.  finitely  great. 


474  Commonplace  Book. 

does  not  seem  to  God  a  looo  years,  rather  than  a  looo  yeas 
a  day? 

But  one  only  colour  &  its  d^rees. 

Enquiry  about  a  grand  mistake  in  writers  of  dioptricks  is 
assigning  the  cause  of  microscopes  magnifying  objects. 

Qu.  whether  a  blind  [man]  made  to  see  would  at  i"^  give  die 
name  of  distance  to  any  idea  intromitted  by  sight,  since  he  wouU 
take  distance  y^  that  he  had  perceived  by  touch  to  be  something 
existing  without  his  mind,  but  he  would  certainly  think  that 
nothing  seen  was  without  his  mind  ? 
S.  Space  without  any  bodies  being  im  rerum  matttra  would  not  be 
extended,  as  not  having  parts,  in  that  parts  are  assigned  to  it  w^ 
respect  to  body  y  from  whence  also  the  notion  of  distance  is  taken. 
Now  without  either  parts  or  distance  or  mind,  how  can  there  be 
space,  or  anything  beside  one  uniform  Nothing  ? 

Two  demonstrations  that  blind  made  to  see  would  not  take  all 
things  he  saw  to  be  without  his  mind,  or  not  in  a  point — ^the  one 
from  microscopic  eyes,  the  other  from  not  perceiving  distance,  Lc. 
radius  of  the  visual  sphere. 

1^^  The  trees  are  in  the  park,  i.e.  whether  I  will  or  no,  whether  I 
imagine  anything  about  them  or  no.  Let  me  but  go  thither  and 
open  my  eyes  by  day,  &  I  shall  not  avoid  seeing  them. 

By  extension  blind  [man]  would  mean  either  the   perception 
caused  in  his  touch  by  something  he  calls  extended,  or  else  the 
power  of  raising  that  perception,  wch  power  is  without,  in  the 
thing  termed  extended.     Now  he  could  not  know  either  of  these . 
to  be  in  things  visible  till  he  had  try*d. 

Geometry  seems  to  have  for  its  object  tangible  extension, 
figures,  &  motion — and  not  visible  «*. 

A  man  will  say  a  body  will  seem  as  big  as  before,  tho'  the 
visible  idea  it  yields  be  less  than  w*  it  was ;  therefore  the  bigness 
or  tangible  extension  of  the  body  is  diflFerent  from  the  visible 
extension. 

^   Cf.  Essay  on  Vision^  sect.  149 — 59,      nor  visible  extension  makes  the  object  of 
where  he  concludes  that  'neither  abstract      geometry.' 


ComnumplcLce  Book.  475 

Extension  or  space  no  simple  idea — length,  breadth,  &  solidity 
being  three  several  ideas. 

Depth  or  solidity  now  perceived  by  sight. 

Strange  impotence  of  men.  Man  without  God  wretcheder  than 
1.  stone  or  tree ;  he  having  onely  the  power  to  be  miserable  by  his 
anperformed  wills,  these  having  no  power  at  all. 

Length  perceivable  by  hearing — ^length  &  breadth  by  sight — 
length,  breadth,  &  depth  by  touch. 

W^  affects  us  must  be  a  thinking  thing,  for  w^  thinks  not  cannot 
subsist. 

Number  not  in  bodies,  it  being  the  creature  of  the  mind, 
depending  entirely  on  its  consideration,  &  being  more  or  less 
as  the  mind  pleases. 

Mem.  Quaere  whether  extension  be  equally  a  sensation  with 
colour  ?  The  mob  use  not  the  word  extension.  Tis  an  abstract 
term  of  the  Schools. 

Round  figure  a  perception  or  sensation  in  the  mind,  but  in  the 
txxly  is  a  power.     L[ocke],  b.  2.  c.  8.  s.  8. 

Mem.  Mark  well  the  later  part  of  the  last  cited  section. 

Solids,  or  any  other  tangible  things,  are  no  otherwise  seen  than 
colours  felt  by  the  German  Count. 

'  OP  and  ^  thing*  causes  of  mistake. 

The  visible  point  of  he  who  has  microscopical  eyes  will  not  be 
greater  or  less  than  mine. 

Qu.  whether  the  propositions  &  even  axioms  of  geometry  do 
not  divers  of  them  suppose  the  existence  of  lines  &c.  without  the 
mind? 

Whether  motion  be  the  measure  of  duration  ?  Locke,  b.  2.  c.  14. 
s.  19. 

Lines  &  points  conceived  as  terminations  different  ideas  from 
those  conceiv*d  absolutely. 

Every  position  alters  a  line. 

Blind  man  at  i^  would  not  take  colours  to  be  without  his  mind^ 
but  colours  would  seem  to  be  in  the  same  place  with  the  coloured 
extension:  therefore  extension  w<*  not  seem  to  be  without  the 
mind. 


476  Comnwnplace  Book. 

All  visible  concentric  circles  whereof  the  eye  is  the  centre  are 
absolutely  equal. 

Infinite  number — why  absurd — not  rightly  solved  by  Locke. 
Qu.  how  'tis  possible  we  should  see  flats  or  ri^t  lines  ? 
Qu.  why  the  moon  appears  greatest  in  the  horizon  ? 
Qu.  why  we  see  things  erect  when  painted  inverted  ? 

T.        Question  put  by  Mr.  Deering  touching  the  thief  and  paradise. 

M       Matter  tho'  allowed  to  exist  may  be  no  greater  than  a  pin's  head. 

Motion  is  proportionable  to  space  described  in  given  time. 

Velocity  not  proportionable  to  space  described  in  given  time. 
M.        No  active  power  but  the  Will :  therefore  Matter,  if  it  exists^ 
alBFects  us  not. 

Magnitude  when  barely  taken  for  the  ratio  parthtm  extrm  fsrtts^ 
or  rather  for  co-existence  &  succession,  without  considering  the 
parts  co-existing  &  succeeding,  is  infinitely,  or  rather  indefinitdj, 
or  not  at  all  perhaps,  divisible,  because  it  is  itself  infinite  a 
indefinite.  But  definite^  determined  magnitudes,  i.e.  lines  or 
surfaces  consisting  of  points  whereby  (tqgether  w^  distance  & 
position)  they  are  determined,  are  resoluble  into  those  points. 

Again.  Magnitude  taken  for  co-existence  and  succession  is  not 
all  divisible,  but  is  one  simple  idea. 

Simple  ideas  include  no  parts  nor  relations — hardly  separated 
and  considered  in  themselves — nor  yet  rightly  singled  by  anjr 
author.  Instance  in  power,  red,  extension,  &c.  . 
M.  Space  not  imaginable  by  any  idea,  received  from  sight — not 
imaginable  without  body  moving  —  not  even  then  necessarily 
existing  (I  speak  of  infinite  space),  for  w^  the  body  has  past  may  be 
conceived  annihilated. 
M.  Qh*  What  can  we  see  beside  colours  ?  what  can  we  fitel  beside 
hard,  soft,  cold,  warm,  pleasure,  pain  ? 

Qu.  Why  not  taste  &  smell  extension  ? 

Qu.  Why  not  tangible  &  visible  extensions  thought  hetero- 
geneous extensions,  so  well  as  gustable  &  olefactible  perceptions 
thought  heterogeneous  perceptions  ?  or  at  least  why  not  as  hetero- 
geneous as  blue  &  red  ? 

Moon  w°  horizontal  does  not  appear  bigger  as  to  visible  exten- 


Commonplace  Book. 

on  than  at  other  times;   hence  difficulties  and  disputes  about 
liags  seen  under  equal  angles  &c.  cease. 

All  fottntit  alike  indifferent. 

A.  B.  W'  does  he  mean  by  his  fotent'ta}  Is  it  the  will,  desire, 
person,  or  all  or  neither,  or  sometimes  one,  sometimes  t'other? 

No  agent  can  be  conceiv'd  indiiferent  as  to  pain  or  pleasure. 

We  do  not  properly  speaking,  in  a  strict  philosophical  sense, 
make  objects  more  or  less  pleasant,  but  the  laws  of  nature  do  that. 

A  finite  intelligence  might  have  foreseen  4  thousand  years  agoe 
the  place  and  circumstances,  even  the  most  minute  &  trivial,  of 
my  present  existence.  TTiis  true  on  supposition  that  uneasiness 
determines  the  will. 

Doctrines  of  liberty,  prescience,  6cc.  explained  by  billiard  balls. 

Wt  judgement  would  he  make  of  uppermost  and  lowermost  who 
had  always  seen  through  an  inverting  glass  } 

All  lines  subtending  the  same  optic  angle  congruent  (as  is  evi- 
dent by  an  easy  experiment) — therefore  they  are  equal. 

We  have  not  pure  simple  ideas  of  blue,  red,  or  any  other  colour 
(except  perhaps  black)  because  all  bodies  reflect  hclcrogeneal  light. 

0^1.  whether  this  be  true  as  to  sounds  (&  other  sensations), 
there  being,  perhaps,  rays  of  air  wt''  will  onely  exhibit  one  par- 
ticular sound,  as  rays  of  light  one  particular  colour. 

Colours  not  definable,  not  because  they  are  pure  unmixt  thoughts, 
but  because  we  cannot  easily  distinguish  &  separate  the  thoughts 
they  include,  or  because  we  want  names  for  their  component  ideas. 

By  Soul  is  meant  onely  a  complex  idea,  made  up  of  existence, 
willing,  &  perception  in  a  large  sense.     Therefore  it  is  known    I 
and  it  may  be  defined. 

We  cannot  possibly  conceive  any  active  power  but  the  Wilt. 

In  moral  matters  men  think  ('tis  tnie)  that  they  are  free,  but 
this  freedom  is  only  the  freedom  of  doing  as  they  please,  wA 
freedom  is  consecutive  to  the  Will,  respecting  only  the  operative 
faculties  *". 

Men  impute  their  actions  to  themselves  because  they  will'd 

"  Beikelcf  givci  in  obKOrt,  v»riU»ting,  iMounl  of  moral  ictivil^  ot  rolition. 


I 


47^  Commonplace  Book. 

them,  and  that  not  out  of  ignorance,  but  whereas  they  have  the 
consequences  of  them,  whether  good  or  bad. 

This  does  not  prove  men  to  be  indi£ferent  in  respect  of  desiring, 
If  anything  is  -meant  by  the  potentim  of  A.  B.  it  must  be  desire; 
but  I  appeal  to  any  man  if  his  desire  be  indiflferent,  or  (to  speak 
more  to  the  purpose)  whether  he  himself  be  indififerent  in  respect 
of  w^  he  desires  till  after  he  has  desired  it — for  as  for  desire  itself, 
or  the  faculty  of  desiring,  that  is  indifferent,  as  all  other  faculties 
are. 

Actions  leading  to  heaven  are  in  my  power  if  I  will  them: 
therefore  I  will  will  them. 

Qu.  concerning  the  procession  of  Wills  im  mfinitum. 
Herein  mathematiques  have  the  advantage  over  metaphysiques  I 
and  morality.    Their  definitions  being  of  words  not  yet  known 
to  y«  learner,  are  not  disputes^  but  words  in  metaj^ysiques  & 
morality  being  mostly  known  to  all,  the  definitions  of  them  maj 
chance  to  be  contraverted. 
M.        The  short  jejune  way  in  mathematiques  will  not  do  in  meta- 
I^ysiques  &  ethiques,  for  yt  about  mathematical  propositions  men 
have  no  prejudices,  no  anticipated  opinions  to  be  encountered, 
they  not  having  yet  thought  on  such  matters.     'Tis   not  so  in 
the  other  2  mentioned  sciences.    A  man  must  [there]  not  onely 
demonstrate  the  truth,  he  must  also  vindicate  it  against  scruples 
and  established  opinions  which  contradict  it.     In  short,  the  dry,  , 
strigose,  rigid  way  will  not  suffice.     He  must  be  more  ample  &  I 
copious,  else  his  demonstration,  tho'  never  so  exact,  will  not  go 
down  with  most. 

i 

Extension  seems  to  consist  in  variety  of  homogeneal  thoughts 
co-existing  without  mixture; 

Or  rather  visible  extension  seems  to  be  the  co-existence  of  colour 
in  the  mind. 

S.         Enquiring  and  judging  are  actions  which  depend  on  the  operative   j 
Mo.  faculties,  w<*  depend  on  the  Will,  wch  is  determined  by  some  un- 
easiness; ergo  &c.    Suppose  an  agent  w^J*  is  finite  perfectly  in- 
different, and  as  to  desiring  not  determined  by  any  prospect  or 
consideration  of  good,  I  say,  this  agent  cannot    do   an   action 


Commonpl€u:e  Book.  479 

morally  good.  Hence  'tis  evident  the  suppositions  of  A.  B.  are 
insignificant. 

.^ctension,  motion,  time,  number  no  simple  ideas,  but  include 
succession  in  them,  which  seems  to  be  a  simple  idea. 

Mem.  To  enquire  into  the  angle  of  contact,  &  into  fluxions,  &c. 

The  sphere  of  vision  is  equal  whether  I  look  onely  in  my  hand 
or  on  the  open  firmament,  for  !■*,  in  both  cases  the  retina  is  full; 
7,\  the  radius's  of  both  spheres  are  equall  or  rather  nothing  at 
all  to  the  sight;  3*^3^,  equal  numbers  of  points  in  one  &  t'other. 

In  the  Barrovian  case  purblind  would  judge  aright. 

Why  the  horizontal  moon  greater  ? 

Why  objects  seen  erect  ? 

To  what  purpose  certain  figure  and  texture  connected  w^  other 
perceptions  ? 

Men  estimate  magnitudes  both  by  angles  and  distance.  Blind 
at  I"*  could  not  know  distance,  or  by  pure  sight  abstracting  from. 
experience  of  connexion  of  sight  and  tangible  ideas  we  can't 
perceive  distance.  Therefore  by  pure  sight  we  cannot  perceive 
or  judge  of  extension. 

Qu.  whether  it  be  possible  to  enlarge  our  sight  or  make  us  see 
at  once  more,  or  more  points,  than  we  do,  by  diminishing  the 
fttmctum  visiUle  below  30"? 

Speech  metaphorical  more  than  we  imagine,  insensible  things, 
&  their  modes,  circumstances,  &c.  being  exprest  for  the  most 
part  by  words  borrow'd  from  things  sensible.  Hence  manyfold 
mistakes. 

The  grand  mistake  is  that  we  think  we  have  ideas  of  the  opera- 
tions of  our  minds.  Certainly  this  metaphorical  dress  is  an  argu- 
ment we  have  not. 

Qu.  How  can  our  idea  of  God  be  complex  &  uncompounded, 
when  his  essence  is  simple  &  uncompounded?     V.  Locke,  b.  2. 

s-  35  •^• 

The  impossibility  of  defining  or  discoursing  clearly  of  such 

things  proceeds  from  the  fault  &  scantiness  of  language,  as  much 

•^  [•  Omnes  reales  renun  proprietates  contiDentur  in  Deo/    What  means  Le  Clcrc  &c.  by 
thif  ?    Log.  I.  ch.  8.] — Author. 


480  Commonplctce  Book. 

perhaps  as  from  obscurity  &  confusion  of  thought.     Hence  I  maj 
clearly  and  fully  understand  my  own  soul,  extension,  &&,  and  not 
be  able  to  define  them. 
M.       The  substance  v)9od  a  collection  of  simple  ideas.    See  Loda^ 
b.  2.  c  26.  s.  J . 

Mem.  concerning  strait  lines  seen  to  look  at  them  throu^  an 
orbicular  lattice. 

Qu.  whether  possible  that  those  visible  ideas  w<*  are  now  con- 
nected with  greater  extensions  could  have  been  connected  with 
lesser  extensions, — there  seeming  to  be  no  necessary  connexioo 
between  those  thoughts  ? 

Speculums  seem  to  diminish  or  enlarge  objects  not  by  altering 
the  optique  angle,  but  by  altering  the  apparent  distance. 

Hence  Qu.  if  blind  would  think  things  diminishM  by  convexes^ 
or  enlarged  by  concaves? 
P.  N.      Motion  not  one  idea.     It  cannot  be  perceived  at  once. 
M.       Mem.  To  allow  existence  to  colours  in  the  dark,  persons  not 
P.     thinking, &c. — but  not  an  absolute,  actual  existence.    'Tis  pradent 
to  correct  men's  mistakes  without  altering  their  language.    This 
makes  truth  glide  into  their  souls  insensibly. 
M.       Colours  in  yc  dark  do  exist  really,  i.  e.  were  there  li^t,  or  as 
P.     soon  as  light  comes,  we  shall  see  them,  provided  we  open  our 
eyes,  and  that  whether  we  will  or  no. 

How  the  retina  is  fiird  by  a  looking-glass  ? 

Convex  speculums  have  the  same  effect  w*  concave  glasses. 

Qu.  whether  concave  speculums  have  the  same  effect  w*^  con- 
vex glasses  ? 

The  reason  why  convex  speculums  diminish  &  concave  magniij 
not  yet  fully  assigned  by  any  writer  I  know. 

Qu.  why  not  objects  seen  confused  when  that  they  seem 
inverted  through  a  convex  lens  ? 

Qu.  how  to  make  a  glass  or  speculum  which  shall  magnify  or 
diminish  by  altering  the  distance  without  altering  the  angle  ? 

No  identity  (other  than  perfect  likeness)  in  any  individuals 
besides  persons. 
N.        As  well  make  tastes,  smells,  fear,  shame,  wit,  virtue,  vice,  & 
all  thoughts  move  w^  local  motion  as  immaterial  ^irit. 


C&inmottpia€e  Book. 

ly  doctri 


481 

;  of  my  doctrine,  the  identity  of  finite  substances 
lust  consist  in  something  else  than  continued  existence,  or 
relation  to  determined  time  &  place  of  beginning  to  exist — the 
■existence  of  our  thoughts  (which  being  combined  make  all  sub- 
stances) being  frequently  interrupted,  &  they  having  divcts 
beginnings  &  endings. 

Qu.  whether  identity  of  person  consists  not  in  the  Will  ? 

No  necessary  connexion  between  great  or  little  optique  angles 
and  great  or  little  extension. 

Distance  is  not  perceived :  optique  angles  are  not  perceived. 
How  then  is  extension  perceiv'd  by  sight? 

Apparent  magnitude  of  a  line  is  not  simply  as  the  optique  angle, 
l)Ut  directly  as  the  optique  angle,  &  reciprocally  as  the  confusion, 
tfc.  (i.  e.  the  other  sensations  or  want  of  sensation  that  attend 
near  vision).  Hence  great  mistakes  in  assigning  the  magnifying 
power  of  glasses.     Vid.  Mo]y[neux],  p.  183. 

Glasses  or  speculums  may  perhaps  magnify  or  lessen  without 
altering  the  optique  angle,  but  to  no  purpose. 

Qu.  whether  purblind  would  think  objects  so  much  diminished 
by  a  convex  speculum  as  another  ? 


Qu.  wherein  consists  identity  of  person?  Not  in  actual  con- 
sciousness, for  then  I'm  not  the  same  person  I  was  this  day  twelve- 
month, but  while  I  think  of  w'  I  then  did.  Not  in  potential,  for 
then  all  persons  may  be  the  same,  for  ought  we  know. 

Mem.  Story  of  Mr.  Decring's  aunt. 

Two  sorts  of  potential  consciousnesses  —  natural  &  pister- 
natural.     In  the  last  §  but  one  I  mean  the  latter. 

\i  by  magnitude  be  meant  the  proportion  anything  bears  to  a 
determined  tangible  extension,  as  inch,  foot,  &c.,  this,  'tis  plain, 
cannot  be  properly  &  per  se  perceived  by  sight;  &  as  for 
determin'd  visible  inches,  feet,  &c.,  there  can  be  no  such  thing 
obtain'd  by  the  meer  act  of  seeing — abstracted  from  expe- 
rience, &c. 

Tlie  greatness  ftr  se  perceivable  of  the  sight  is  onely  the  pro- 
portion any  visible  appearance  bears  to  the  others  seen  at  the  same 
time ;  or  (which  is  the  same  thing)  the  proportion  of  any  particular 


482  Commonplace  Book. 

part  of  the  visual  orb  to  the  whole.  But  mark  that  we  perceive 
not  it  is  an  orb^  any  more  than  a  plain,  but  by  reasoning. 

This  is  all  the  greatness  the  pictures  have  per  se. 

Hereby  meere  men  cannot  at  all  judge  of  the  extension  of 
any  object,  it  not  availing  to  know  the  object  makes  such  a  part 
of  a  sphaerical  surface  except  we  also  know  the  greatness  of  the 
sphaerical  surface,  for  a  point  may  subtend  the  same  angle  w^  a 
mile,  &  so  create  as  great  an  image  in  the  retina,  i.  e.  take  up  as 
much  of  the  orb. 

Men  judge  of  magnitude  by  faintness  and  vigorousness,  by  dis- 
tinctness and  confusion,  with  some  other  circumstances,  by  great 
&  little  angles. 

Hence  'tis  plain  the  ideas  of  sight  which  are  now  connected 
with  greatness  might  have  been  connected  w*i>  smallness,  and  vice 
vers&— there  being  no  necessary  reason  why  great  angles,  fiadnt- 
ness,  and  distinctness  without  straining,  should  stand  for  great 
extension,  any  more  than  a  great  angle,  vigorousness,  and  con- 
fusion. 

My  end  is  not  to  deliver  metaphysiques  altogether  in  a  general 
scholastic  way,  but  in  some  measure  to  accommodate  them  to 
the  sciences,  and  shew  how  they  may  be  useful  in  optique% 
geometry,  &c. 

Qu.  whether  per  se  proportion  of  visible  magnitudes  be  per- 
ceivable by  sight  ?  This  is  put  on  account  of  distinctness  and  con- 
fiisedness,  the  act  of  perception  seeming  to  be  as  great  in  viewing 
any  point  of  the  visual  orb  distinctly,  as  in  viewing  the  whole 
confusedly. 

Mem.  To  correct  my  language  &  make  it  as  philosophically  nice 
as  possible — to  avoid  giving  handle. 

If  men  could  without  straining  alter  the  convexity  of  their 
crystallines,  they  might  magnify  or  diminish  the  apparent 
diameters  of  objects,  the  same  optic  angle  remaining. 

The  bigness  in  one  sense  of  the  pictures  in  the  fund  is  not 
determined,  for  the  nearer  a  man  views  them,  the  images  of  them 
(as  well  as  other  objects)  will  take  up  the  greater  room  in  the  fund 
of  his  eye. 

Mem.  Introduction  to  contain  the  design  of  the  whole — the 
nature  and  manner  of  demonstrating,  &c. 

Two  sorts  of  bigness  accurately  to  be  distinguished,  they  being 


Commonplace  Book. 


483 


j»erfectly  and  tete  ealo  difFerent— tbe  one  the  proportion  that  an/ 
one  appearance  has  to  the  sum  of  appearances  perceived  at  the 
same  time  wib  it,  wi"  is  proportional  to  angles,  or  if  a  surface  to 
segments  of  sphaerical  surfaces, — the  other  is  tangible  bigness, 

Qu.  w  would  happen  if  the  sphserae  of  the  retina  were  enlarged 
or  diminish'd  ? 

We  think  by  the  meer  act  of  vision  we  perceive  distance  from 
us,  yet  we  dn  not  i  also  that  we  perceive  solids,  yet  we  do  not ; 
also  the  inequality  of  things  seen  under  the  same  angle,  yet  we 
do  not. 

Why  may  I  not  add,  we  think  we  see  extension  by  meer  vision  ? 
yrt  we  do  not. 

Extension  seems  to  be  perceived  by  tlie  eye,  as  thought  by  the 
ar. 

As  long  as  the  same  angle  determines  the  minimum  visible  to 
two  persons,  no  different  conformation  of  the  eye  can  make  a 
different  appearance  of  magnitude  in  the  same  thing.  But  it 
being  possible  to  try  the  angle,  we  may  certainly  know  whether 
the  same  thing  appears  differently  big  to  two  persons  on  account 
of  their  eyes. 

If  a  man  could  see  "  objects  would  appear  laiger  to  him  than  to 
another  i  hence  there  is  another  sort  of  purely  visible  magnitude 
beside  the  proportion  any  appearance  bears  to  the  visual  sphere, 
viz.  its  proportion  to  the  M.  V. 

Were  there  but  one  and  the  same  language  in  the  world,  and 
did  children  speak  it  naturally  as  soon  as  born,  and  were  it  not  in 
the  power  of  men  to  conceal  their  thoughts  or  deceive  others,  but 
that  there  were  an  inseparable  connexion  between  words  & 
thoughts,  so  y'  posito  una  ponisur  elterum  by  the  laws  of  nature  j  Qu. 
would  not  men  think  they  heard  thoughts  as  much  as  that  they  sec 
(extension  oi^? 

All  our  ideas  are  adsequate,  our  knowledge  of  the  laws  of  nature 
is  not  perfect  &  adequate  "*. 

Men  are  in  the  right  in  judging  their  simple  ideas  to  be  in  the 


484  Comnwnplace  Book. 

things  themselves.    Certainly.heat  &  colour  is  as  much  without 
the  mind  as  figure,  motion,  time,  &c. 

We  know  many  things  w^h  we  want  words  to  express.  Great 
things  discoverable  upon  this  principle — for  want  of  considering 
wch  divers  men  have  run  into  sundry  mistakes,  endeavouring  to 
set  forth  their  knowledge  by  sounds,  w<^  foundering  them,  they 
thought  the  defect  was  in  their  knowledge,  while  in  truth  it  was 
in  their  language. 

Query  whether  the  sensations  of  si^t  arising  from  a  man's 
head  be  liker  the  sensations  of  touch  proceeding  from  thence  or 
from  his  legs  ? 

Or,  Is  it  onely  the  constant  &  long  association  of  ideas  entirely 
different  that  makes  me  judge  them  the  same  ? 

W*  I  see  is  onely  variety  of  colours  &  light.  W*  I  feel  is 
hard  or  soft,  hot  or  cold,  rough  or  smooth,  &c.  W*  resemblance 
have  these  thoughts  with  those  ? 

A  picture  painted  w^h  great  variety  of  colours  affects  the  touch 
in  one  uniform  manner.  I  cannot  therefore  conclude  that  because 
I  see  2, 1  shall  feel  2  ^  because  I  see  angles  or  inequalities,  I  shall 
feel  angles  or  inequalities.  How  therefore  can  1 — before  experience 
teaches  me — know  that  the  visible  leggs  are  (because  2)  connected 
vi^  the  tangible  ones,  or  the  visible  head  (because  one)  connected 
wth  the  tangible  head? 

M.       All  things  by  us  conceivable  are — 
I  St,  thoughts; 

andly,  powers  to  receive  thoughts ; 
3rdly,  powers  to  cause  thoughts; 
neither  of  all  w^h  can  possibly  exist  in  an  inert,  senseless  thing. 

An  object  w^hout  a  glass  may  be  seen  under  as  great  an  angle  as 
wth  a  glass.     A  glass  therefore  does  not  magnify  the  appearance 
by  the  angle. 
&         Absurd  that  men  should  know  the  soul  by  idea — ideas  being 
inert,  thoughtless.     Hence  Malbranch  confuted  ''^ 

^  But  the  Dime  ideas  of  Malebranche  and  the  real  ideas,  sensations,  or  pheoomena 
of  Berkeley  differ.  i 


Commonplace  Booh. 


485 


I  confusedly  thro'  a  convex  glass  are  not 


I  saw  gladness  in  his  looks.     1  saw  shame  i 
igure  or  distance. 

Qu.  why  things  ; 
roagdifyd? 

Tho'  we  shouid  judge  the  horizontal  moon  to  be  more  distant, 
why  should  we  therefore  judge  her  to  be  greater  ?  What  connexion 
betwixt  the  same  angle,  further  distant,  and  greaterness  ? 

My  doctrine  affects  the  essences  of  the  Corpuscularians. 

Perfect  circles,  &c.  exist  not  without  {for  none  can  so  exist, 
whether  perfect  or  no),  but  in  the  mind. 

Lines  thought  divisible  ad  infinitum  because  they  are  suppos'd  to 
exist  without*'.  Also  because  they  are  thought  the  same  when 
view'd  by  the  naked  eye,  &  w"  view'd  thro'  magnifying  glasses. 

They  who  knew  not  glasses  had  not  so  fair  a  pretence  for  the 
flivisibiiity  ad  infinitum. 

No  idea '-  of  circle,  ficc.  in  abstract. 

Metaphysiqucs  as  capable  of  certainty  as  ethiques,  but  not  so 
capable  to  be  demonstrated  in  a  geometrical  way,  because  men  see 
clearer  &  have  not  so  many  prejudices  in  ethiques. 

Visible  ideas  come  into  the  mind  very  distinct.  So  do  tangible 
ideas.  Hence  esctension  seen  &  felt.  Sounds,  tastes,  &c.  are 
more  blended. 

Qu.  Why  not  extension  intromitted  by  the  taste  in  conjunction 
with  the  smell — seeing  tastes  &  smells  are  very  distinct  ideas? 

Blew  and  yellow  particles  mixt,  while  they  exhibit  an  uniform 
green,  their  extension  is  not  perceiv'd ;  but  as  soon  as  they  exhibit 
distinct  sensations  of  blew  and  yellow,  then  their  extension  is 
perceiv'd. 

Distinct  perception  of  visible  ideas  not  so  perfect  as  of  tangible 

tangible  ideas  being  many  at  once  equally  vivid.  Hence 
heterogeneous  extension. 

Object,  Why  a  mist  increases  not  the  apparent  magnitude  of 
an  object,  in  proportion  to  the  faintncss"^? 

Mem.  To  enquire  touching  the  squaring  of  the  circle,  &c. 
That  w^h  seems  smooth  &  round  to  the  touch  may  to  sight 


'  witlraot,'  i.e.  indepcndeni  ol  , 
■KB  or  perception  of  ihcm. 
Aey  gel  too  mialJ  fat  lh»l  Ibty  c 
■  "  It  »11,  ictDiding  to  Bttketey. 


"  i.  e.  in  Betkfley't  meining  of  •  idea,' 
which  Eiv«  intuitive  >■  lUtlincl  from  (jni- 

b'.iic»l  knowledge. 


486  Camtnonplace  Book. 

seem  quite  otherwise.  Hence  no  neces^ry  connexion  betwixt 
visible  ideas  and  tangible  ones. 

In  geometry  it  is  not  proved  that  an  inch  is  divisible  ad  imfimhm. 

Geometry  not  conversant  about  our  compleat,  determined  ideas 
of  figures,  for  these  are  not  divisible  ad  infinitum. 

Particular  circles  may  be  squar'd,  for  the  circumference  beii^ 
given  a  diameter  may  be  found  betwixt  wc*»  &  the  true  there  is 
not  any  perceivable  diflFerence.  Therefore  there  is  no  diflFereoce 
— extension  being  a  perception,  &  a  perception  not  perceiv'd  is 
contradiction,  nonsense,  nothing.  In  vain  to  alledge  the  diflference 
may  be  seen  by  magnifying-glasses,  for  in  y^  case  there  is  ('tis  true) 
a  difference  perceiv'd,  but  not  between  the  same  ideas^  but  others 
much  greater,  entirely  different  therefk)m  "^^ 

Any  visible  circle  possibly  perceivable  of  any  man  may  be 
squar'd,  by  the  common  way,  most  accurately ;  or  even  perceivable 
by  any  other  being,  see  he  never  so  acute,  i.e.  never  so  small  an 
arch  of  a  circle;  this  being  wt  makes  the  distinction  between 
acute  &  dull  sig^t,  and  not  the  m.  v.,  as  men  are  perhaps  apt 
to  think. 

The  same  is  true  of  any  tangible  circle.  Therefore  further 
enquiry  of  accuracy  in  squaring  or  other  curves  is  perfectly 
needless,  &  time  thrown  away. 

Mem.  To  press  w*  last  precedes  more  homely,  &  so  think  on't 
again. 

A  meer  line  or  distance  is  not  made  up  of  points,  does  not 
exist,  cannot  be  imagined,  or  have  an  idea  framed  thereof, — no 
more  than  meer  colour  without  extension  '^^. 

Mem.  A  great  difference  between  considering  length  w^^^out 
breadth,  &  having  an  idea  of  or  imaging  length  without 
breadth ''®. 

Malbranch  out  touching  the  crystallines  diminishing,  L.  i.  c  6. 

*Tis  possible  (&  perhaps  not  very  improbable,  that  is,  is  some- 
times so)  we  may  have  the  greatest  pictures  fix)m  the  least  objects. 


^^  Thii  is  the  Prindple  directed  against  many  of  these  sentences, 

infinite  divisibility,  and  quantitative  infinity.  ''^  He  here  assumes  that  extension  (visible) 

Cf.   Malebranche,  Recbercbtt   lib.  I.    c.  6.  is  implied  in  the  perception  of  odour. 

That  and    the  following  chapters  seem  to  ^^  This   strikingly   iUnttrato    Berkeley's 

h&ve  been  in  Berkeley's  mind  in  writing  use  of  *  idea.' 


Commonplace  Book.  487  1 

'hcrefore  no  necessary  connexion  betwixt  visible  &  tangible 
ideas.  These  ideas,  viz.  great  relation  to  sphxra  visiialis  or  to  the 
m.  V.  {wth  is  all  that  1  would  have  meant  by  having  a  greater 
picture)  &  faintness,  might  possibly  have  stood  for  or  signify'd 
small  tangible  extensions.  Certainly  the  greater  relation  to  s.  v. 
and  m.  v.  docs  frequently,  in  that  men  view  little  objects  near 
the  eye. 

Malbranch  out  in  asserting  we  cannot  possibly  know  whether 
there  arc  2  men  in  the  world  that  see  a  thing  of  the  same  bigness,  ■ 
V.  L.  I.e.  6. 

Diagonal  of  particular  square  commensurable  w""  its  side,  they 
both  containing  a  certain  number  of  m.  v. 

I  do  not  think  that  surfaces  consist  of  lines,  i.e.  meer  distances.  J 
Hence  perhaps  may  be  solid  that   sophism  w^*"  would  prove  the 
oblique  line  equal  to  the  perpendicular  between  2  parallels. 

Suppose  an  inch  represent  a  mile.  T-jnrtF  ^f  ^"  '"^^  '^  nothing, 
but  1-^^Ts  of  y  mile  represented  is  something:  therefore  i^'^^  of 
an  inch,  tho*  nothing,  is  not  to  be  neglected,  because  it  represents 
something,  i.e  t-oVit  ^^  ^  mie. 

Particular  determin'd  lines  are  not  divisible  «d  iwfinifum,  but 
lines  as  us'd  by  geometers  are  so,  they  not  being  determin'd  to 
any  particular  finite  number  of  points.  Yet  a  geometer  (he  knows 
hy)  will  very  readily  say  he  can  demonstrate  an  inch  line  is 
divisible  aJ  hpnitum. 

A  body  moving  in  the  optiquc  axis  not  percciv'd  to  move  by 
sight  merely,  and  without  experience.  There  is  ('tis  true)  a 
successive  change  of  ideas,^ — it  seems  less  and  less.  But,  besides 
this,  there  is  no  visible  change  of  place. 

Mem.  To  enquire  most  diligently  concerning  the  incommensu- 
rability of  diagonalc  &  side— whether  it  docs  not  go  on  the  suppo- 
sition of  units  being  divisible  aJ  infinitMrn,  i.e.  of  the  extended 
thing  spoken  of  being  divisible  ad  infinitum  (unit  being  nothing^ 
also  v,  Barrow,  Lect.  Geom.),  &  so  the  infinite  indivisibility 
deduced  therefrom  is  a  fetitio  principii  ? 

The  diagonal  is  commensurable  with  the  side. 

From  Malbranch,  Locke,  &  my  first  arg^iings  it  can't  be  prov'd 
that  extension  is  not  in  matter.  From  Locke's  arguings  it  can't 
be  proved  that  colours  arc  not  in  bodies. 


488 


Commonplace  Book. 


M. 


Mem.  That  I  was  distrustful  at  8  years  old,  and  consequently 
by  nature  disposed  for  these  new  doctrines. 

Qu.  How  can  a  line  consisting  of  an  unequal  number  of  points 
be  divisible  [#^  infimtum\  in  two  equals  ? 

Mem.  To  discuss  copiously  how  &  why  we  do  not  see  the 
pictures. 

Allowing  extensions  to  exist  in  matter,  we  cannot  know  even 


P.     their  proportions — contrary  to  Malbranch. 

M.        I  wonder  how  men  cannot  see  a  truth  so  obvious,  as  that 
extension  cannot  exist  without  a  thinking  substance  77. 


M*  Species  of  all  sensible  things  made  by  the  mind.  This  prov'd 
either  by  turning  men's  eyes  into  magnifyers  or  diminishers. 

Y^  m.  V.  is,  suppose,  less  than  mine.  Let  a  3'^  person  have 
perfect  ideas  of  both  our  m.  v.  His  idea  of  my  m.  v.  contains 
his  idea  of  yours,  &  somewhat  more.  Therefore  'tis  made  up  of 
parts — ^therefore  his  idea  of  my  m.  v.  is  not  perfect  or  just,  which 
diverts  the  hypothesis. 

Qu.  whether  a  m.  v.  or  t.  be  extended  ? 

Mem.  The  strange  errours  men  run  into  about  the  pictures. 
We  think  them  small  because  should  a  man  be  supposed  to  see 
them  their  pictures  would  take  up  but  little  room  in  the  fund  of 
his  eye. 

It  seems  all  lines  can't  be  bisected  in  2  equall  parts.  Mem.  To 
examine  how  the  geometers  prove  the  contrary. 

'Tis  impossible  there  should  be  a  m.  v.  less  than  mine.  If 
there  be,  mine  may  become  equal  to  it  (because  they  are  homo- 
geneous) by  detraction  of  some  part  or  parts.  But  it  consists  not 
of  parts,  ergo  &c. 


^  The  dependence  of  extension  and  space 
upon  a  conscious  mind  does  not  necessarily 
imply  that  space  is  contingent  or  created.  It 
may  be  the  uncreated  condition  of  the  per- 
ceived or  actual  existence  of  the  sensible  sort 
of  phenomena.  Berkdey's  early  notions 
about  space  and  time  distinguish  his  point 
of  view  from  that  of  Kantian  and  later  philo- 
sophy, with  its  necessary  and  universal  ele- 
ment. '  Time  and  space  alone/  says  an  emi- 
nent living  metaphysician,  'unite  the  pro- 


perties of  being  inmiediately  and  ineradicaUf 
certain,  of  being  universally  present  in  aO 
phenomena,  of  being  knowable  in  their  firrt 
intention  and  defined  as  what  they  are,  and 
of  being  in  nature  the  same,  in  all  objects 
however  different.  They  thus  become  the 
common  basis  or  bond  of  union  between  all 
other  cognitions,  and  as  such  the  starting- 
point  and  comer-stone  of  philosophy.'  (See 
Time  and  Space  (p.  122),  by  Shadworth  H. 
Hodgson.) 


Commonplace  . 


489 1 


Suppose  inverting  p!rspectivcs  bound  to  y*  eyes  of  a  child,  & 
continu'd  to  the  years  of  manhood — when  he  looks  up,  or  turns  up 
his  head,  he  shall  behold  w<  we  call  under.  Qu.  What  would  he 
think  of  up  and  down  '^  ? 

I  wonder  not  at  my  sagacity  in  discovering  the  obvious  tho' 
amazing  truth;  I  rather  wonder  at  my  stupid  inadvertency  in 
not  finding  it  out  before — 'tis  no  witchcraft  to  sec. 

Our  simple  ideas  are  so  many  simple  thoughts  or  perceptions, 
and  that  a  perception  cannot  exist  without  a  thing  to  perceive  it, 
nr  any  longer  than  it  is  percciv'd  j  that  a  thought  cannot  be  in  an 
unthinking  thing;  that  one  uniform  simple  thought  can  be  like 
to  nothing  but  another  uniform  simple  thought.  Complex  thoughts 
or  ideas  are  onely  an  assemblage  of  simple  ideas,  and  can  be 
the  image  of  nothing,  or  like  unto  nothing  but  another  assemblage 
of  simple  ideas,  &c. 

The  Cartesian  opinion  of  light  &  colours  &c.  is  orthodox  enough 
even  in  their  eyes  who  think  the  Scripture  expression  may  favour 
the  common  opinion.  Why  may  not  mine  also?  But  there  is 
nothing  in  Scripture  tliat  can  possibly  be  wrested  to  make  against 
me,  but,  perhaps,  many  things  for  me. 

Bodies  &c  do  exist  whether  wc  think  of  'em  or  no,  they  being 
taken  in  a  twofold  sense — 

I.  Collections  of  thoughts '". 

J.  Collections  of  powers  to  cause  those  thoughts'". 
These  later  exist,  the'  perhaps  *  parte  rel  it  may  be  one  simple 
perfect  power '". 

Qu.  whether  the  extension  of  a  plain,  look'd  at  straight  and 
slantingly,  surve/d  minutely  &c  distinctly,  or  in  the  bulk  and  con- 
fusedly at  once,  be  the  same  ?  N.B,  The  plain  is  suppos'd  to  keep 
the  same  distance. 

The   ideas  we  have  by  3  successive,  curious  inspection  of  y» 

■••.  Tbii  10  illuiime  the  necciniy  rdtliie-  Set    below.    wh«e    petc«ptinn>  »  pattivt 

nen  of  IhoK  tcnni.  and  elscwhac  applied  thaugNu. 

to  the  uiTcrtcd  imagei  on  ihe  reliiu.     C{.  ■*  i.  e.  the  Supreme  oi  Ditine  power,  into 

BaariKt  riosH.  uct.  HS -119,  which  Ueikeley  in  ihe  end  rnolvei  »\\  tn- 

•*  Be  heie  tiMi  thoughli  =  pefccplKini.  tilled  phj'iio!  fores  and  their  ecinebliom. 


490  Commonplace  Book. 

minute  parts  of  a  plain  do  not  seem  to  make  up  the  extension 
of  that  plain  view'd  &  considered  all  together. 

Ignorance  in  some  sort  requisite  in  y^  person  that  should  disown 
the  Principle. 

Thoughts  do  most  properly  signify,  or  are  mostly  taken  for  the 
interior  operations  of  the  mind,  wherein  the  mind  is  active 
Those  y*  obey  not  the  acts  of  volition,  and  in  w<*  the  mind  is 
passive,  are  more  properly  callM  sensations  or  perceptions.  But 
y^  is  all  a  case. 

Extension  being  the  collection  or  distinct  co-existencfe  of  mini- 
mums,  i.e.  of  perceptions  intromitted  by  sight  or  touchy  it  cannot 
be  conceived  without  a  perceiving  substance. 

P.  Malbranch  does  not  prove  that  the  figures  &  extensions  exist 
not  when  they  are  not  perceiv'd.  Consequently  he  does  not  prove, 
nor  can  it  be  prov'd  on  his  principles,  that  the  sorts  are  the  work 
of  the  mind,  and  onely  in  the  mind. 

M.       The  great  argument  to  prove  that  extension  cannot  be  in  an 

P-  unthinking  substance,  is  that  it  cannot  be  conceived  distinct  from 
or  without  all  tangible  or  visible  quality. 

M,  Tho'  matter  be  extended  w^h  an  indefinite  extension,  yet  the 
mind  makes  the  sorts.  They  were  not  before  the  mind  perceiving 
them,  &  even  now  they  are  not  without  the  mind.  Houses,  trees, 
&c.,  tho'  indefinitely  extended  matter  do  exist,  are  not  without 
the  mind  ®^. 

M.  The  great  danger  of  making  extension  exist  without  the  mind, 
is  that  if  it  does  it  must  be  acknowledged  infinite,  immutable, 
eternal,  &c.,  wch  will  be  to  make  either  God  extended  (w<^  I  think 
dangerous),  or  an  eternal,  immutable,  infinite,  increate  being 
beside  God  ®*. 

I.  Finiteness  of  our  minds  no  excuse  for  the  geometers  ®^. 

M.        The  Principle  easily  proved  by  plenty  of  arguments  ad  ahsurdum. 
The  twofold  signification  of  Bodies,  viz. 

^   Because   they  involve  sensation,  and      of  mechanical  science  and  theology  in  the 
law  or  universality.  Newtonian  age. 

"  This  is  written  at  the  point  of  view  ■•  Cf.  Principles^  Introduction,  sect.  1. 


Cominonplaxe  Book. 


491 


1.  Combinations  of  thoughts; 

2.  Combinations  of  powers  to  raise  thoughts. 
These,  I  say,  in  conjunction  with  homogeneous  particles,  ma/  J 
solve  much  better  the  objections  from  the  creation  than  the  sup*  I 
position  that  Matter  does  exist, — upon  wth  supposition  1  think  [ 
they  cannot  be  srilv'd. 

Bodies  taken  for  powers  do  exist  w"  not  perceived;  but  this 
existence  is  not  actual**.  W"  I  say  a  power  exists,  no  more  is 
meant  than  that  if  in  the  light  I  open  my  eyes,  and  look  that 
way,  I  shall  see  it,  i.e.  the  body,  &c. 

Qu.  whether  blind  before  sight  may  not  have  an  idea  of  light 
and  colours  &  visible  extension,  after  the  same  manner  as  wc 
perceive  them  w"i  eyes  shut  or  in  the  dark— not  imagining  but 
seeing  after  a  sort? 

Visible  extension  cannot  be  concciv'd  added  to  tangible  ex- 
tension.   Visible  and  tangible  points  can't  make  one  sum.    There*  ' 
lore  these  extensions  are  heter<^eneous. 

A  probable  method  propos'd  whereby  one  may  judge  whether  in 
near  vision  there  is  a  greater  distance  between  the  crystalline 
fiind  than  usual,  or  whether  the  crystalline  be  onely  rendered  more 
convex.  If  the  former,  then  the  v.  s.  is  enlarg'd,  &  the  m.  v. 
corresponds  to  less  than  30",  or  w'ever  it  us'd  to  correspond  to. 

Stated  measures,  inches,  feet,  &c.,  are  tangible  not  visible 
extensions  ". 

Locke,  More,  Raphson,  &c.  seem  to  make  God  extended. 
Tis  nevertheless  of  great  use  to  religion  to  take  extension  out 
3f  our  idea  of  God,  Sc  put  a  power  in  its  place  "^  It  seems  dan- 
gerous to  suppose  extension,  w'^''  is  manifestly  inert,  in  God. 

But,  say  you.  The  thought  or  perception  1  call  extension  is  not 
itself  in  an  unthinking  thing  or  Matter— but  it  is  like  something 


i.e.  Thii  ii.  in  a  wiy,  the  diitinclion 
of  Uxraiia  lod   ivifrfiai.     It  helpi  Wo  (O 
cxpliin  Bokelcy')  teal  mcining  when   be 
ictiowi  ipciki  or  the  ideii  oi  phenomena, 
eo  in  the  icnic  CKperieocc  of  diRerent 
loot,  almott  i>  if  ihey  were  inilepenclenl 
iliei,  which  citculate  among  niindi,  while 
(uX  he  ovdili  ihtu  only  with   a  de- 
pendent mi  jr«i«ii  tiiiieiice. 


-Thuit 

Ihegio 

nd  of  Betkelej 

motal 

inlereM  in  th 

comro 

of  M.net,  a 

d  of  h 

1  objection  lo 

.     Hit 

DVD  belief  in 

what 

.  now  called  objitHyity 

ia   founded 

M\y  (in  bU  n 

taning 

of  efficient  ci 

uie),  after  ■  pretiout  analyiii 

of   .p.«    in 

ble    extennoo. 

(For 

e  of  '  objective,'  cf.  AWi,  tect. 


49  2  Commonplace  Book. 

wch  is  in  Matter.  Well,  say  I,  Do  you  apprehend  or  conceive  w* 
you  say  extension  is  like  unto,  or  do  you  not  ?  If  the  later,  how 
know  you  they  are  alike?  How  can  you  compare  any  things 
besides  your  own  ideas?  If  the  former,  it  must  be  an  idea,  Lc. 
perception,  thought,  or  sensation — ^w<^  to  be  in  an  unperceiving 
thing  is  a  contradiction  *^ 

I.  I  abstain  from  all  flourish  &  powers  of  words  &  ^jures,  using 
a  great  plainness  &  simplicity  of  simile,  having  oft  found  it 
difficult  to  understand  those  that  use  the  lofty  &  Platonic,  or 
subtil  &  scholastique  strain  ®^ 

M.  Whatsoever  has  any  of  our  ideas  in  it  must  perceive  ;  it  being 
that  very  having,  that  passive  recognition  of  ideas,  that  de- 
nominates the  mind  perceiving — that  being  the  very  essence  of 
perception,  or  that  wherein  perception  consists. 

The  faintness  w«h  alters  the  appearance  of  the  horizontal  moon, 
rather  proceeds  from  the  quantity  or  grossness  of  the  intermediate 
atmosphere,  than  from  any  change  of  distance,  w<*  is  perhaps  not 
considerable  enough  to  be  a  total  cause,  but  may  be  a  partial 
of  the  phenomenon.  N.B.  The  visual  angle  is  less  in  cause 
the  horizon. 

We  judge  of  the  distance  of  bodies,  as  by  other  things,  so  also 
by  the  situation  of  their  pictures  in  the  eye,  or  (w^h  is  the  same 
thing)  according  as  they  appear  higher  or  lower.  Those  w**  seem 
higher  are  farther  off,  &c. 

Qu.  why  we  see  objects  greater  in  y*  dark  ?  whether  this  can  be 
solv'd  by  any  but  my  principles  ? 

M.       The  reverse  of  y«  Principle  introduced  scepticism. 
M.        N.B.  On  my  principles  there  is  a  reality :  there  are  things :  there 
is  a  Ttrum  natura. 

\    Mem.  The  surds,  doubling  the  cube,  &c. 

"^  To  be  *  in  an  unperceiving  thing,'  i.  e.  tively  at  sonutbing  unknowm  involves  coo- 
to  exist  unperceivcd.    Now,  whatever  is  per-  tradiction. 

cdved  or  known  is,  as  something  perceived,  "*  This  as  to  the  '  Platonic  ttrain'  is  not 

an  idea — in  Berkeley's  language  :  we  know  the  tone  of  Siris. 
it  as  a  something  known :  to  know  it  posi- 


Commonplace  Book.  493 

Wc  think  that  if  just  made  to  see  we  should  judge  of  the  dis- 
tance &  magnitude  of  things  as  we  dn  now ;  but  this  is  false.  So 
also  w'  we  think  so  positively  of  the  situation  of  objects. 

Hays's,  Keiirs*^  &c,  method  of  proving  the  infinitesimals  of 
the  3*"  order  absurd,  &  perfectly  conttadictions. 

Angles  of  contact,  &  verily  all  angles  comprehended  by  a  right 
line  &  a  curve,  cannot  be  measur'd,  the  arches  intercepted  not 
being  similar. 

The  danger  of  expounding  the  H.  Trinity  by  extension. 

Qu.  Why  should  the  magnitude  seen  at  a  near  distance  be 
deem'd  the  true  one  rather  than  that  seen  at  a  farther  distance  ? 
Why  should  the  sun  be  thought  many  1000  miles  rather  than  one 
fixjt  in  diameter — both  being  equally  apparent  diameters  ?  Cer- 
tainly men  judg'd  of  the  sun  not  in  himself,  but  w"i  relation  to 
tbemselTes. 

4  principles  whereby  to  answer  objections,  viz. 

1.  Bodies  do  really  exist  tho'  not  percciv*d  by  us  *". 

2.  There  is  a  law  or  course  of  nature. 

3.  Language  &  knowledge  are  all  about  ideas;  words  stand 

for  nothing  else. 

4.  Nothing  can  be  a  proof  against  one  side  of  a  contradic- 

tion that  bears  equally  hard  upon  the  other*'. 

What  shall  I  say?  Dare  I  pronounce  the  admired  ^Kfjl^ifia 
niathematica,  that  darling  of  the  age,  a  trifle  ? 

Most  certainly  no  finite  extension  divisible  aJ  infinitum. 
Difiiculties  about  concentric  circles. 

Mem.  To  examine  6i  accurately  discuss  the  scholium  of  the 
'  definition  of  Mr.  Newton's  "*  Principia. 


>  JobD  KeiU(lfi7i — 1711).  thicmiacal 

athcnuliciin,  cducitcd  at  Ihc  Univcnity 

of  Edinburgh  ;  in  i;io  SaTilian  Fiarcuor  of 

Aitrooonij  at  0«(brd.  aad  the  GttI  to  leich 

Ibe  NennooiiD  philouiphy  in  that  UniTcniiy. 

70S  he  wai  digiECd  in  i  cuiitiaverty 


"  So  in  Kant"»  antriion 
liw  of  thr  canditione4. 


fBppoil  of  Nen 


\  cliimi 


10  the  d 


2|.94  Commonplau  Book. 

Ridiculous  in  the  mathematicians  to  de^se  sense. 

Qu.  Is  it  not  impossible  there  should  be  general  ideas  ? 

All  ideas  come  firom  without  They  are  all  particular.  The 
mind,  *tis  true,  can  consider  one  thing  w^xit  another  j  but  then, 
considered  asunder,  they  niake  not  %  ideas ®^  Both  together  can 
make  but  one,  as  for  instance  colour  &  visible  extension. 

The  end  of  a  mathematical  line  is  nothing.  Locke's  argu- 
ment that  the  end  of  his  pen  is  black  or  white  concludes  nothing 
here. 

Mem.  Take  care  how  you  pretend  to  define  extension,  for  fear 
of  the  geometers. 

Qu.  why  difficult  to  imagine  a  minimum?  Ans.  Because  we 
are  not  used  to  take  notice  of  'em  singly ;  they  not  being  aUe 
singly  to  pleasure  or  hurt  us,  thereby  to  deserve  our  r^ard. 

Mem.  To  prove  against  Keill  y*  the  infinite  divisibility  of 
matter  makes  the  half  have  an  equal  number  of  equal  parts  with 
the  whole. 

Mem.  To  examine  how  far  the  not  comprehending  infinites 
may  be  admitted  as  a  plea. 

Qu.  Why  may  not  the  mathematicians  reject  all  the  extensions 
below  the  M.  as  well  as  the  dd*,  &c.,  w**  are  allowed  to  be  somc^ 
thing,  &  consequently  may  be  magnifyd  by  glasses  into  inches, 
feet,  &c.,  as  well  as  the  quantities  next  below  the  M.  ? 

Big,  little,  and  number  are  the  works  of  the  mind.     How  there- 
fore can  y«  extension  you  suppose  in  Matter  be  big  or  little  ?   How 
can  it  consist  of  any  number  of  points  ? 
P.         Mem.  Strictly  to  remark  L[ocke],  b.  2.  c.  8.  s.  8  •^ 

Schoolmen  compared  with  the  mathematicians. 

£xtension  is  blended  w*^  tangible  or  visible  ideas,  &  by  the 
mind  praescinded  therefrom. 

Mathematiques  made  easy — the  scale  does  almost  all.  The 
scale  can  tell  us  the  subtangent  in  y<^  parabola  is  double  the 
abscisse. 

W*  need  of  the  utmost  accuracy  w*  the  mathematicians  own 
in  rerum  natura  they  cannot  find  anything  corresponding  w*  their 
nice  ideas. 

**  i.  e.  two  individual  things,  or  images  of      what  he  means  by  id!ra,  what  by  quali/yt 
two  individual  things.  and  what  the  relation  between  ideis  and 

**  In  which  Locke  explains  and  illustrates       qualities. 


Commonplace  Book.  495 

One  should  endeavtmr  to  find  a  progression  by  trying  w^  the 
scale. 

Newton's  fluxions  needless.  Anything  below  a  M.  might  serve 
for  Leibnitz's  Difierehtial  Calculus. 

How  can  they  hang  together  so  well,  since  there  are  in  them 
(I  mean  the  mathematiques)  so  many  contradsctaria  argutU.  V. 
Barrow,  Lect. 

A  man  may  read  a  book  of  conies  with  ease,  knowing  how  to 
try  if  they  are  right.  He  may  take  *em  on  the  credit  of  the 
author. 

Where's  the  need  of  certainty  in  such  trifles  ?  The  thing  that 
makes  it  so  much  esteem'd  in  them  is  that  we  are  thought  not 
capable  of  getting  it  elsewhere.  But  we  may  in  ethiques  and 
metaphysiques. 

The  not  leading  men  into  mistakes  no  argument  for  the  truth 
of  the  infinitesimals — they  being  nothings  may  perhaps  do  neither 
good  nor  harm,  except  wn  they  are  taken  for  something,  &  then 
the  contradiction  begets  a  contradiction. 

a  +  500  nothings = a  -f  50  nothings — an  innocent  silly  truth. 

My  doctrine  excellently  corresponds  w*h  the  creation.  I  suppose 
no  matter,  no  stars,  sun,  &c.  to  have  existed  before. 

It  seems  all  circles  are  not  similar  figures,  there  not  being  the 
same  proportion  betwixt  all  circumferences  &  their  diameters. 

When  a  small  line  upon  paper  represents  a  mile,  the  mathe- 
maticians do  not  calculate  the  loloo  of  ^^^  paper  line,  they  calculate 
the  loioo  of  the  mile.  *Tis  to  this  they  have  regard,  'tis  of  this 
they  think,  if  they  think  or  have  any  idea  at  all.  The  inch 
perhaps  might  represent  to  their  imaginations  the  mile,  but  y, 
10000  of  the  inch  cannot  be  made  to  represent  anything,  it  not 
being  imaginable. 

But  the  Ynhru  of  a  mile  being  somewhat,  they  think  the  10000  of 
the  inch  is  somewhat:  w^  they  think  of  y*  they  imagine  they 
think  on  this. 

3  faults  occur  in  the  arguments  of  the  mathematicians  for 
divisibility  ad  infinitum — 


49^  Ciminumplace  Book. 

1.  They  suppose  extension  to  exist  without  the  mind^or 

not  perceived. 

2.  They  suppose  that  we  have  an  idea  of  length  without 

breadth  ^^  or  that  length  without  breadth  does  exi<. 

3.  That  unity  is  divisible  ad  mfimtum. 

To  suppose  a  M.  S.  divisible  is  to  say  there  are  distinguishable 
ideas  where  there  are  no  distinguishable  ideas. 

The  M.  S.  is  not  near  so  inconceivable  as  the  sigmtnm  m  nupu- 
tuMne  mMviduum. 

Mem.  To  examine  the  math,  about  their  fwrnt — what  it  is — 
something  or  nothing — and  how  it  diflfers  from  the  M.  S. 

All  might  be  demonstrated  by  a  new  method  of  indivisibles, 
easier  perhaps  and  juster  than  that  of  Cavalierius  ^. 

M.       Unperceivable  perception  a  contradiction. 

^*         Proprietates  reales  rerum  omnium  in  Deo,  tarn  corporum  quum 

^*    spirituum  continentur.    Clerici,  Log.  cap.  8. 

Let  my  adversaries  answer  any  one  of  mine,  PU  yield.  If  I 
don't  answer  every  one  of  theirs,  Pll  yield. 

The  loss  of  the  excuse  *^  may  hurt  Transubstantiation,  but  not 
the  Trinity. 

We  need  not  strain  our  imaginations  to  conceive  such  little 
things.  Bigger  may  do  as  well  for  infinitesimals,  since  the  integer 
must  be  an  infinite. 

Evident  y*  w^li  has  an  infinite  number  of  parts  must  be  infinite. 

Qu.  whether  extension  be  resoluble  into  points  it  does  not 
consist  of? 

Nor  can  it  be  objected  that  we  reason  about  numbers,  y/^  arc 
only  words  &  not  ideas;  for  these  infinitesimals  are  words  of  no 
use  if  not  supposed  to  stand  fi^r  ideas  *«. 

Axiom.  No  reasoning  about  things  whereof  we  have  no  idea. 
Therefore  no  reasoning  about  infinitesimals. 

^  [6r  rather  that  invisible  length  does  nets  of  our  mind — making  it  pottible  for 

exist.] — Author.  contradictions  to   appear    true    to    us.]" 

••  BonaTentura   Cavalieri  (1598 — 1647).  Author. 
the    famous   Italian    nuthemattcian.      His  ^  But  he  allows  elsewhere  that  words  oot 

Otometry  of  Indivisibles  (1635)   prepared  representative  of  ideas,  i.  e.  of  phenomena, 

the  way  for  the  Calculus.  may,   in  some  circumstances,   discharge  a 

^  [By  the  *  excuse '  is  meant  the  finite-  useful  office. 


Commonpkice  Book.  497 

Much  less  infinitesimals  of  infinitesimals  ^o^  &c. 
Axiom*  No  word  to  be  used  without  an  idea. 

Our  eyes  and  senses  inform  us  not  of  the  existence  of  matter 
or  ideas  existing  without  the  mind.  They  are  not  to  be  blam*d 
for  the  mistake. 

I  defy  any  man  to  assign  a  right  line  equal  to  a  paraboloid,  but 
wn  looked  at  thro*  a  microscope  they  may  appear  unequall. 

Newton's  harangue  amounts  to  no  more  than  that  gravity  is 
proportional  to  gravity. 

One  can't  imagine  an  extended  thing  without  colour.  V.  Barrow, 
L.  G. 

Men  allow  colours,  sounds,  &c.  not  to  exist  without  the  mind, 
tho*  they  had  no  demonstration  they  do  not.  Why  may  they  not 
allow  my  Principle  with  a  demonstration? 

Qu.  whether  I  had  not  better  allow  colours  to  exist  without 
the  mind;  taking  the  mind  for  the  active  thing  w^J*  I  call  'I,* 
*  myself* — yt  seems  to  be  distinct  from  the  understanding  ^  ? 

The  taking  extension  to  be  distinct  from  all  other  tangible 
&  visible  qualities,  &  to  make  an  idea  by  itself,  has  made  men 
take  it  to  be  without  the  mind. 

I  see  no  wit  in  any  of  them  but  Newton.  The  rest  are  meer 
triflers,  mere  Nihilarians. 

The  folly  of  the  mathematicians  in  not  judging  of  sensations 
by  their  senses.     Reason  was  given  us  for  nobler  uses. 

Keill's  filling  the  world  with  a  mite  2.  This  follows  from  the 
divisibility  of  extension  ad  infinitum. 

Extension  ^  or  length  without  breadth  seems  to  be  nothing 
save  the  number  of  points  that  lie  betwixt  any  2  points.  It 
seems  to  consist  in  meer  proportion — meer  reference  of  the 
mind. 

To  what  purpose  is  it  to  determine  the  forms  of  glasses  geo- 
metrically ? 


••  Cf.  Analyst.  '  [Extension  without  breadth,  i.e.  insen- 

*  i.  c.  the  personal  or  voluntary  activity.  sible,  intangible  length,  is  not   conceivable. 

»  Keill's  IntroducHo  ad  veram  Pbysieam  Tis  a  mistake  we  are  led  into  by  the  doc- 

(Oxon.  1702) — Lectio  5 — a  curious  work,  trine  of  abstraction.] — Author. 

dedicated  to  the  Earl  ot  Pembroke. 

VOL.  IV.  K  k 


498  Commonplace  Book. 

Sir  Isaac  ^  owns  his  book  could  have  been  demonstrated  on  the 
supposition  of  indivisibles. 
M.       Innumerable  vessels  of  matter.     V.  Cheyne. 

ril  not  admire  the  mathematicians.  'Tis  wt  any  one  of  com- 
mon sense  mi^t  attain  to  by  repeated  acts.  I  prove  it  by  ex- 
perience.    I  am  but  one  of  human  sense,  and  I  &c. 

Mathematicians  have  some  of  them  good  parts — ^the  more  is 
the  pity.  Had  they  not  been  mathematicians  they  had  been  good 
for  nothing.  They  were  such  fools  they  knew  not  how  to  employ 
their  parts. 

The  mathematicians  could  not  so  much  as  tell  wherein  truth  & 
certainty  consisted,  till  Locke  told  'em.  I  see  the  best  of  'em 
talk  of  light  and  colours  as  if  wtlk)ut  the  mind. 

By  Thing  I  either  mean  ideas  or  that  w<^  has  ideas. 

Nullum  prseclarum  ingenium  unquam  fuit  magnus  mathe- 
maticus.    Scaliger. 

A  great  genius  cannot  stoop  to  such  trifles  &  minutenesses  as 
they  consider. 

An  idea  cannot  exist  unperceiv'd. 


1.  *  All  significant  words  stand  for  ideas. 

2.  All  knowledge  about  our  ideas. 

3.  All  ideas  come  from  without  or  from  within. 

4.  If  from  without  it  must  be  by  the  senses,  &  they  are  call'd 
sensations. 

5.  If  from  within  they  are  the  operations  of  the  mind,  &  are 
called  thoughts. 

6.  No  sensation  can  be  in  a  senseless  thing. 

7.  No  thought  can  be  in  a  thoughtless  thing. 

8.  All  our  ideas  are  either  sensations  or  thoughts,  by  3,  4, 5. 

9.  None  of  our  ideas  can  be  in  a  thing  wch  is  both  tihoughtless 
&  senseless.    6,  7,  8. 

10.  The  bare  passive  recognition  or  having  of  ideas  is  called 
perception. 

*  Here  *  Sir  Isaac'  shorter  and  more  separate  in  the  Treatise.]— 

•  [These   arguments  most   be  proposed      Axtthor.    See  the  PrmeipU$, 


Commonplace  Book.  499 

!!•  Whatever  has  in  it  an  idea,  tho'  it  be  never  so  passive,  tho* 
It  exert  no  manner  of  act  about  it,  yet  it  must  perceive.   10. 

12.  All  ideas  either  are  simple  ideas,  or  made  up  of  simple 
ideas. 

13.  That  thing  w^  is  like  unto  another  thing  must  agree  wtli  it 
in  one  or  more  simple  ideas. 

14.  Whatever  is  like  a  simple  idea  must  either  be  another 
simple  idea  of  the  same  sort,  or  contain  a  simple  idea  of  the  same 
sort.    13. 

15.  Nothing  like  an  idea  can  be  in  an  unperceiving  thing. 
1 1,  14.     Another  demonstration  of  the  same  thing. 

16.  Two  things  cannot  be  said  to  be  alike  or  unlike  till  they  have 
been  compar'd. 

17.  Comparing  is  the  viewing  two  ideas  together,  &  marking 
w*  they  agree  in  and  w*  they  disagree  in. 

18.  The  mind  can  compare  nothing  but  its  own  ideas.    17. 

19.  Nothing  like  an  idea  can  be  in  an  unperceiving  thing.  11, 
16,  18. 

N.B.  Other  arguments  innumerable,  both  a  priori  &  a  posteriori^ 
drawn  from  all  the  sciences,  from  the  clearest,  plainest,  most 
obvious  truths,  whereby  to  demonstrate  the  Principle,  i.e.  that 
neither  our  ideas,  nor  anything  like  our  ideas,  can  possibly  be  in 
an  unperceiving  thing  6. 

N.B.  Not  one  argument  of  any  kind  w*soever,  certain  or  pro- 
bable, a  priori  or  a  posteriori^  from  any  art  or  science,  fix)m  either 
sense  or  reason,  against  it. 


Mathematicians  have  no  right  idea  of  angles.  Hence  angles 
of  contact  wrongly  apply*d  to  prove  extension  divisible  md  infi- 
nitum. 

We  have  got  the  Algebra  of  pure  intelligences. 

*  Thif  is  the  Berkeldan  Principle  in  an      that  perceived  things  cannot  be,  or  resemble, 
early  and  crude  stage  of  its  derelopment —      nnperceifed  things. 

K  k  a 


500 


Commonplace  Book. 


P. 


T. 


H 


P. 


We  can  prove  Newton's  propositions  morc^  accurately,  more 
easily,  &  upon  truer  principles  than  himself. 

Barrow  owns  the  downfisdl  of  geometry.  However  I'll  endea- 
vour to  rescue  it — so  far  as  it  is  useful,  or  real,  or  imaginable, 
or  intelligible.  But  for  the  nothings.  Til  leave  them  to  their 
admirers. 

ril  teach  any  one  die  whole  course  of  mathematiques  in  ^ 
part  the  time  that  another  will. 

Much  banter  got  A-om  the  prefaces  of  the  mathematicians. 

Newton  says  colour  is  in  the  subtil  matter.  Hence  Malbrancb 
proves  nothing,  or  is  mistaken,  is  asserting  there  is  onely  figure  & 
motion. 

I  can  square  the  circle,  &C.,  they  cannot,  w*^  goes  on  the  best 
principles. 

The  Billys*  use  a  finite  visible  line  for  an  — . 
'  m 

Marsilius  Ficinus — ^his  appearing  the  moment  he  died  solv'd  by 
my  idea  of  time  *. 

The  philosophers  lose  their  Matter.  The  mathematicians  lose 
their  insensible  sensations.  The  profane  [lose]  their  extended 
Deity.  Pray  w*  do  the  rest  of  mankind  lose  ?  As  for  bodies,  &C., 
we  have  them  still  ^®. 

N.B.  The  future  philosoph.  &  mathem.  get  vastly  by  the 
bargain. 

There  are  men  who  say  there  are  insensible  extensions.  There 
are  others  who  say  the  wall  is  not  white,  the  fire  is  not  hot,  &c. 
We  Irishmen  cannot  attain  to  these  truths. 

The  mathematiciams  think  there  are  insensible  lines.  About 
these  they  harangue — these  cut  in  a  point  at  all  angles — ^these 
are  divisible  ad  infinHum.  We  Irishmen  can  conceive  no  such 
lines. 


*  [to  the  Qtmost  accoracy,  wanting  no- 
thing of  perfection.  Their  solutions  of 
problems  themselves  must  own  to  fall 
infinitely  short  of  perfection.]— Author. 

*  Jean  de  BiUjand  Ren«  de  Billy.  French 
mathematicians — the  former  author  oiNova 
Cftonutria  Clavis  and  other  mathematical 
works. 

*  According  to  Baronius,  in  the  fifth 
volume  of  his  '  Annals/  Ficinus  appeared 
to  his  friend  Michael  Mercatos,  agreeably  to 
a  promise  he  made  when  he  was  alire,  to 


assure  him  of  the  truth  of  the  immortafity 
of  the  human  soul. 

*^  i.e.  we  have  the  phenomena  (ffeseuted 
in  perception,  and  these  Berkeley  every- 
where assumes  to  be  true:  what  he  leaves 
more  obscure  is  the  lest  of  inferences  from 
these  phenomena  —  the  nature  of  ^  as* 
sumptions  by  which  physical  and  other  sci- 
ence is  discovered — wluch  refutes  the  Scep- 
tics who  reject  any  criterion  by  which  geocnl 
knowledge  can  be  constituted. 


Commonplace  Book.  501 

The  madiematicians  talk  of  w^  they  call  a  point.  This,  they 
say,  is  not  altogether  nothing,  nor  is  it  downright  something. 
Wow  we  Irishmen  are  apt  to  think  something  &  nothing  are  next 
nei^bours. 

Engagements  to  P.^^  on  account  of  y«  Treatise  that  grew  up 
under  his  eye,  on  account  also  of  his  approving  my  harangue. 
Glorious  for  P. "  to  be  the  protector  of  usefull  tho*  newly  dis- 
covered truths. 

How  could  I  venture  thoughts  into  the  world  before  I  knew  they 
would  be  of  use  to  the  world  ?  and  how  could  1  know  that  till  I 
had  try^d  how  they  suited  other  men's  ideas  ? 

I  publish  not  this  so  much  for  anything  else  as  to  know  whether 
other  men  have  the  same  ideas  as  we  Irishmen.  This  is  my  end, 
&  not  to  be  inform'd  as  to  my  own  particular. 

The  Materialists  &  Nihilarians  need  not  be  of  a  party. 


\The  frecedmg  Thoughts  (pp.  419 — 501)  are  in  'what  I  have  called 
the  ^  Commonplace  Book.*  The  same  volume  contains  also  the 
^Description  of  the  Cave  of  Dunmore^  and  some  fragments  of 
the  ^Miscellanea  Mathematical  The  six  sentences  v)hich  follow 
are  on  a  page  of  the  other  small  quarto  volume^  mentioned  in  my 
Preface.] 

My  speculations  have  the  same  effect  as  visiting  foreign 
countries :  in  the  end  I  return  where  I  was  before,  but  my  heart 
at  ease,  and  enjoying  life  with  new  satisfaction  ^2, 

Passing  through  all  the  sciences,  though  false  for  the  most  part, 
yet  it  gives  us  the  better  insight  and  greater  knowledge  of  the 
truth. 


"  Lord  Pembroke  (?),  to  whom  the  Prin-  reflectiTC  philosophy,  which,  in  the  words  of 

cities    were    dedicated;    as    also    Locke's  Coleridge,  'produces  the  strongest  impres- 

£ftay.  Bons  of  novelty,  while  it  rescues  admitted 

»»  CC  Preface  to  the  Dialogva  bttweem  truths  from  the  neglect  caused  by  the  rery 

HyUu  and  Phlonout,  where  he  speaks  in  circmnsUnce  of  their  nniversal  admission.' 
like  manner  of  the  educational  dBFects  of 


502  Commonplace  Book. 

He  that  would  bring  another  over  to  his  opinion,  must  seem  to 
harmonize  with  him  at  first,  and  humour  him  in  his  own  way  of 
talking. 

From  my  childhood  I  had  an  unaccountable  turn  of  thought  that 
way  **. 

It  doth  not  argue  a  dwarf  to  have  greater  strength  than  a 
giant,  because  he  can  throw  off*  the  molehill  which  is  upon  him, 
while  the  other  struggles  beneath  a  mountain. 

The  whole  directed  to  practise  and  morality  —  as  appears 
first,  from  making  manifest  the  nearness  and  omnipresence  d 
God ;  2dly,  from  cutting  off*  the  useless  labour  of  sciences,  and 
so  forth. 

"^  Does  this  refer  merely  to  what  if  said      according  to  the  analogy  of  his  matured 
in  the  foregoing  sentence,   or  to  an  early      philosophy? 
tendency  to  think  about  the  sensible  world 


DESCRIPTION 


CAVE    OF     DUNMORE'. 


There  is  one  of  the  rarities  of  this  kingdom   which,  though  | 
1  judge  considerable  enough  to  take  place  amongst  the  rest,  yet  1 
so  it  is  I  neither  find  it  described  nor  so  much  as  mentioned  by  | 
those  who  are  curious  in  things  of  this  nature — I  mean  the  cave 
of  Dunmore.     In  default  therefore  of  a  better,  1  offer  to  the  world 
my  own  account  of  this  remarkable  place,  so  far  as  I  shall  be  able 


■  TheCiTcarDunniDTe  it  Hill  ant  altbe 
wonden  of  ihc  Count)'  o(  Kilkenny  lo  iialu- 
nlitti,  atchicoIogiiU.  and  tiavellcK.     It  ii 

mjiterioDi  human  rcmiini.  It  hit  beta 
dociibed  by  tuccctiire  IiiveUcn.  Dake- 
Icy't  dcicripiioD.  now  publiihcd  for  the 
fini  timi.  vni  wiiiien  carliei  thui  any 
othci  kaowa  to  me.  The  next,  after  Ber- 
keley't.  of  which  I  am  awaie.  ii  contained 
in  a  TotO'  through  Irtlaad,  *  by  Two  EngLiih 
gentlcmeti,'  poblisbed  in  Dublin  in  1748. 
trhere  >  detailed  account  of  their  Tiiil  10 
■he  CiTc.  114  jean  ago,  it  giren.  In  the 
pbilatofibical  Tnmiaclioti  for  1773.  thne 
a  a  leHer  lo  Di.  Morton,  Sec.  R.S.,  fcom 
Mr.  Adam  Walker,  dated  Ihiblin.  AprU  16, 
1771. 'containing  >n  account  of  ibe  Cavern 
al  Ouniuore  Park,  neat  Kilkenny,  Id  Ire- 
bod,'  wbae  it  ii  compared  with  the  Derby- 
civctni.  Campbell'i  Pbilotopbical 
Sunny  0/  Irrtatd,  a  few  years  liter,  hat 

to  cnta'ibe  cave.    Mr.  Tighe'i  Staiiui- 
tal  Smnty  0/  A*  Oaiaay  q/'  KiUmny  de- 


Man 


mption 


paperi  on  the  tubject  might  be 
tiooed — (be    lateti  Dr.  Foot'i  ■  Accounl   of 

At  to  the  Care  of  Donmore,  in  Co. 
Kilkenny,  with  lome  Reroarkt  on  Hunun 
^  uus  found  therein.*  in  the  jFobna/  o/  ibf 
HatoriciU  and  Areb<Kl<igicat  Asiocialirm  0/ 
Irtlcmd  for  January.  i8;o.     Dr.Fo 


ata  ill  this  and  other  invejligalioni  con- 
ctmiiig  Berkeley  1  am  indebted)  and  Mr. 
Burtchael.  The  parly  carried  nwiy  »  num- 
ber of  human  bonei,  now  deposiied  in  the 
MoKum  of  the  Auodatirm.  Dr.  Fool  referi 
tbete  remaini  to  the  tenth  century,  and  con- 
liden  that  they  conlirm  the  italement  in  the 
Amiab  0/  ibt  Kingdom  0/  trtloMd  by  tbe 
Four  Maiten,  that,  in  -the  age  of  Chriit, 
qi8,  Godfrey,  grandson  of  Imhar.  with  the 
foreigneii  of  Aihcliaih  [Dublin]  demoliihed 
andplundeicdDeiTc-Fcarna[DunmoreCaTe], 
where  one  thouiand  perioos  were  killed  in 
thii  year.'  'In  the  iunion  receuet  of 
Dearc-Feama,'  Dr.  Foot  addi,  ■unmitHke- 
able  eridence  of  the  truth  of  the  ttatement, 
that  a  wholeule  maiticre  wat  perpetrated 
there,  eiiilt — in  the  oiicoui  remaini  of  men, 
women,  and  children,  vbid),  though  not  now 
tttewing  the  Care  in  the  lame  piofuiion  « 
ihcy  formeriy  did.  may  be  piocuicd  m 
quanliiiei.  by  diituibing  the  turface  of  the 
floor  in  I  particolar  place."  An  engraving  of 
the  entrance  to  the  Ca»e  wai  given  in  the 
DuNia  Ptnny  Joaraal  in  1S31.  The  ap- 
pearance of  the  iteep  detceni  10  the  moulli 
chiagu  (at  it  minifal  from  lucceuive  de- 
icrijwiont)  by  ihe  growth  01  dertiuelion  of 
buihct.  &c..  ai>d  the  action  of  the  elementi. 
BerkeJey'i  deicription  of  the  Cave  ii 
written    at    the  end   of  hit    Commonplace 


4 


ithtt 


n  Seplen 


V.Jan 


i  Graves  <,to  whoie  kind- 


I   company       of  hit  college  life.     A.  C,  F. 


504  Description  of  the 

to  copy  it  from  what  I  remember  eitfier  to  have  seen  myself  or 
heard  from  others. 

This  cave  is  distant  four  miles  from  Kilkenny  and  two  from 
Dunmore,  his  grace  the  Duke  of  Ormond's  country  house,  from 
whence  it  has  its  name.  Its  mouth  or  entrance  is  situated  in  a 
rising  ground,  and  affords  a  very  dismal  prospect,  being  both  wide 
and  deep,  and  on  all  sides  rocky  and  precipitous  save  one,  which 
is  a  slope,  part  whereof  is  fashioned  into  a  path  and  in  some 
places  into  steps.  This  as  well  as  the  rest  of  the  sides  is  overrun 
with  elder  2  and  other  shrubs^  which  add  to  the  horror  of  the  place, 
and  make  it  a  suitable  habitation  for  ravens,  screech-owls,  and 
such  like  feral  birds  which  abide  in  the  cavities  of  the  rock. 

At  the  foot  of  this  descent,  by  an  opening  which  resembles  a 
wide  arched  gate,  we  entered  into  a  spacious  vault,  the  bottom 
whereof  is  always  shabby  by  reason  of  the  continual  distillation 
of  rock-water.  Here  we  bad  farewell  to  daylight,  which  was 
succeeded  by  a  formidable  darkness  that  fills  the  hollows  of  this 
capacious  cavern.  And  having,  by  the  help  of  our  candles,  spy*d 
out  our  way  towards  the  left^  hand,  and  not  without  some  difficulty 
clambered  over  a  ruinous  heap  of  huge  unwieldy  stones,  we 
descry^d  a  farther  entrance  into  the  rock,  but  at  some  distance 
from  the  ground.  Here  nature  seemed  to  have  made  certain  round 
stones  jut  out  of  the  wall  on  purpose  to  facilitate  our  ascent. 

Having  gone  through  this  narrow  passage  we  were  surprised 
to  find  ourselves  in  a  vast  and  spacious  hall,  the  floor  of  which  as 
well  as  the  sides  and  roof  is  rock,  though  in  some  places  it  be 
cleft  into  very  frightful  chasms,  yet  for  the  most  part  is  pretty 
level  and  coherent ;  the  roof  is  adorned  with  a  multitude  of  small 
round  pipes  as  thick  as  a  goose-quill,  and,  if  I  misremember  not, 
a  foot  long  or  thereabouts;  from  each  of  *em  there  distils  a  drop 
of  clear  water,  which,  congealing  at  the  bottom,  forms  a  round, 
hard,  and  white  stone.  The  noise  of  these  falling  drops  being 
somewhat  augmented  by  the  echo  of  the  cave,  seems  to  make  an 
agreeable  harmony  amidst  so  profound  a  silence.  The  stones, 
which  I  take  to  be  three  or  four  inches  high  (they  all  seeming 
much  of  a  bigness),  being  set  thick  in  the  pavement  make  a  very 
odd  figure.     Here  is  likewise  an  obelisque  of  a  greyish  colour,  and 

'  The  early  name  of  the  Cave  was  Deare-  '  Right  hand.     Berkeley  is  wrong  as  to 

Fearna^  i.e.  the  alder  cave.     The  alder  tree       the  direction, 
is  called  in  Irish /earn. 


Cave  of  Duitmore. 


505 


think)  about  three  or  four  feet  high.     The  drop  which  formed 

has  ceased,  so  that  it  receives  no  farther  increment. 

This  cave  in  the  great  variety  of  its  congelations  as  well  as 

1  some  other  respects  seems  not  a  little  to  resemble  one  I  find 

;scribed  by  the  name  of  Lcs  Grottes  d'Arcy,  in  a  French  treatise 

t  fOrigine  des  Fontaines^  dedicated    to   the  famous  Huygenius, 

id  printed  at  Paris  in   1678;  but  I  must  own  that  the  French 

ive  has  much  the  advantage  of  ours  on  account  of  the  art  and 

egularity  which  nature  has  observed  in  forming  its  congelations, 

else  that  anonymous  French  author  has  infinitely  surpassed  me 

strength  of  fimcy;   for,  after  having  given  a  long  detail  of 

/cral  things  which  he  says  are  there  represented  by  them,  he 

loncludes  with  these  words,  '  Enfin  I'on  y  voit  les  ressemblances 

tout  ce  qu'on   f>cut  I'imaginer,  solt  d'hommes,  d'animaux,  de 

loissons,  de  fruits,  &c.';  i.e.  in  short,  here  you  may  see  whatever 

iDu  can  ptJssibly  imagine,  whether  men,  beasts,  fishes,  fruits,  or 

oything  else.     Now,  though  as  much  be  confidently  reported  and 

cUeved  of  our  cave,  yet,  to  speak  ingenuously,  'tis  more   than 

could  find  to  be  true :  but,  on  the  contrary,  am  mightily  tempted 

J  think  all  that  curious  imagery  is  chiefly  owing  to  the  strength 

€  imagination  ;  for  like  as  we  see  the  clouds  so  far  comply  with 

fancy  of  a  child,  as  to  represent  to  him  trees,  horses,  men, 

wliatever  else   he's   pleased  to   think  on,  so  'tis  no  difficult 

uatterformeo  of  a  strong  imagination  to  fancy  the  petrified  water 

tamped  with  the  impressions  of  their  own  brain,  when  in  reality 

t  may  as  well  be  supposed  to  resemble  one  thing  as  another. 

By  what  has  been  observed  it  appears  the  congelations  are  not 
ill  of  the  same  colour;  the  pipes  look  very  like  alum,  the  stones 
^med  by  their  drops  are  white  inclining  to  yellow,  and  the 
Sbelisque  I  mentioned  diiFers  from  both.  There  is  also  a  quantity 
Sf  this  congealed  water  that  by  reason  of  its  very  white  colour 
Wd  irregular  figure  at  some  distance  resembles  a  heap  of  snow  ^ 
ind  such  at  fir&t  sight  I  took  it  to  be,  much  wondering  how  it 
nmc  there.  When  we  approached  it  with  a  light  it  sparkled  and 
a  lively  lustre,  and  we  discerned  in  its  superficies  a  number 
jf  small  cavities.  But  the  noblest  ornament  of  this  spacious  hall 
ix  a  huge  channelled  pillar  which,  standing  in  the  middle,  reaches 
^m  top  to  bottom.  There  is  in  one  side  of  it  a  cavity  that  goes 
by  the  name  of  the  alabaster  chair.     The  congelations  which  form 


5o6 


Description  of  tfu 


this  column  are  of  a  yellowish  colour,  and  as  to  tiieir  shape  some- 
thing like  the  pipes  of  an  organ;  but  organs  I  find  are  no  rantj 
in  places  of  this  nature,  the)'  being  to  be  met  not  only  in  the  cave 
of  Arcy  and  that  of  Antiparos  described  in  the  same  treatise, 
pp.  379  and  38;,  but  also  in  one  near  the  Firth  of  Forth  in  Scotland, 
mentioned  by  Sir  Robert  Sibbald  in  the  PhihsofhUal  Tr^MMtmi^ 
No,  iti-'.  This  I  look  upon  to  be  in  all  respects  by  far  the  greatest 
pillar  1  ever  saw,  and  believe  its  pedestal,  which  is  of  a  dart 
colour  and  with  a  glorious  sparkling  reflects  the  light  of  a  candle, 
may  be  as  much  as  three  men  can  well  lathom. 

I  am  concerned  that  I  did  not  take  the  dimensions  both  of  this 
lofty  pillar  and  of  the  other  things  I  endeavour  to  describe.  I 
am  sorry  I  cannot  furnish  the  curious  with  an  exact  account  m" 
the  length,  breadth,  and  height  of  these  subterraneous  chambers, 
and  have  reason  to  think  my  reader  has  by  this  time  often  blameii 
me  lor  using  such  undetermined  expressions  as  wide,  narrow,  dee[^ 
&c.,  where  something  more  accurate  may  be  looked  for.  AH  I 
can  say  is  that  I  endeavour  to  give  a  faithfijl  account  of  this  place, 
so  far  as  I  can  recollect  at  the  distance  of  almost  seven  years, 
and  am  of  opinion  this  imperfect  sketch  might  not  be  altogether 
unacceptable  to  the  curious  till  such  time  as  som:  one  shall  have 
an  opportunity  of  giving  *em  a  more  full  and  accurate  description 
of  this  place. 

Here  it  was  I  desired  one  of  our  company  to  fire  off  his  gun; 
the  sound  we  heard  for  a  considerable  time  roll  through  the  hollows 
of  the  earth,  and  at  length  it  could  not  so  properly  be  said  W 
cease  as  go  out  of  our  hearing.  I  have  been  told  that  a  noise  [bus 
made  in  the  cave  may  be  heard  by  one  walking  in  the  great  aisle 
of  St. Canic's  church  in  Kilkenny',  but  know  no  one  who  ever 
made  the  experiment. 

Having  viewed  the  wonders  of  this  place  and  not  discoreriif 
any  further  passage,  we  returned  through  the  narrow  entrance  we 
came  in  by.  And  here  1  cannot  but  call  to  mind  how  two  or 
three  dogs  we  brought  along  with  us,  not  venturing  to  go  anjr 
further,  stayed  behind  in  the  outer  cavern  ;  these  creatures  seemed 


*  Thii  i)  in  >  Jeilct  (roiu  Sii  Robert 
Sibbild  !□  Or,  Miitin  Liitcr.  published  jn 
Die  Pbilot,  Trans,  for  Oclobei,  t6y6.  The 
IcttL-i  tefen,  by  the  way,  for  tome  particular! 
or  the  nilural  history  ol  Ihe  lile  of  Skye,  to 


in,  who  wu  bom  lliere.'    Cf.  p.  66. 
'  ThecaihcdnlofSl.Canice.    Thenii*» 
.1  that  ■  piper,  who  ntiyed  into  at  n- 
act  of  the  CiK,  WIS  heard  p\ayiag  Date- 
lund.   neit    Et.   Muy'i   church,    in 


Cave  of  Dunntore. 


507 


Very  much  amazed  at  the  horrid  solitude  wherewith  they 

ire  environed,  and,  as  it  were  to  lament  their  deplorable  state,  set 

emsclves  to  howl  with  all  their  might,  which  hideous  yelling, 

miDued  through   the  sonorous   windings  of  the  cave  and   re- 

trberatcd  from  the  ambient  rocks,  would  undoubtedly  have  put 

in  no  small  consternation  had  we  not  known  who  were   the 

ithors  of  it.     By  this  time  some  of  our  company  thought  they 

id  seen  enough,  and  were  very   impatient  to  get  out  of  this 

Ireadfiii  dungeon.     The  rest   of  us   went  on  through  a  passage 

rpposite  to  the  former,  and  much  of  the  same  wideness,  which  led 

1  into  another  cave  that  appeared  every  way  formidably  vastj 

id  though  the  interval  of  time  may  have  rendered  my  ideas  of 

veral  things   I  there  saw  dim  and  imperfect,  yet  the  dismal 

(litude,  the  (earful  darkness,  and  vast  silence  of  that  stupendous 

ivem  have  left  lasting  impressions  in  my  memory.     The  bottom 

in  great  part  strewed  with  huge  massive  stones,  which  seem  by 

le  violence  of  an  earthquake  to  have  been  torn  from  the  rock, 

sd  the  menacing  brows  of  the  shattered  remains  which  threaten 

rcry  moment  to  tumble  from  the  roof  are  apt  to  raise  terrible 

prehensions  in  the  mind  of  one  who  beholds  them  over  his  head. 

)ne  who  visited  this  place  in  company  of  some  others  told  me 

bat  when  they  were  just  come  out  of  it  they  heard  a  dreadful 

»oise  from  within,  which  they  imputed  to  the  fall  of  some  of 

hose  rocky  fragments.     Advancing  forward  we  met  with  a  great 

rhite  congelation  set  against  the  side  of  the  cave,  which  some- 

rhat  resembles  a  pulpit  with  a  canopy  over  it,  and  hard  by  we 

aw  the  earth  turned  up  at  the  entrance  of  a  rabbit-hole,  and 

have  heard  oll-.crs  affirm  that  very  far  in  this  dark  and  dismal 

liace  they  have  met  with  fresh  rabbits'-dung;  now  to  me  it  seems 

strange  to  conceive  what  these  little  animals  can  live  on,  for  it 

passes  imagination  to  think  they  can  find  the  way  in  and  out 

(rf  the  cave,  unless  they  can  see  in  the  dark.     Having  gone  a  little 

liirther,  we  were  surprised  with  the  agreeable  murmur  of  a  rivulet^ 

lling  through  the  clefts  of  the  rock;  it  skims  along  the  side  of 

Ifac  cave,  and  may  be,  as  I  guess,  about  six  feet  over  i  its  water 

Ss  wonderfully  cool  and  pleasant,  and  so  very  clear  that,  where 

[  thought  it  was  scarce  an  inch  deep,  I  found  myself  up  to  my 

knees.     This  excellent  water  runs  but  a  little  way  ere  the  rock 

,pes  to  swallow  it. 

'  This  rivulc!  hai  eciicd  10  lun.     ll  ii  now  1  inuW  poQ\. 


5o8  Description  of  the 

But  what  is  most  surprising  is  that  the  bottom  of  this  spring  is 
all  overspread  with  dead  men's  bones,  and  for  how  deep  I  cannot 
tell.  On  the  brink  there  lies  part  of  a  skull,  designed  as  a  drink- 
ing bowl  for  those  whom  either  thirst  or  curiosity  may  prompt 
to  taste  of  this  subterraneous  fountain;  neither  need  any  oo^s 
niceness  be  offended  on  account  of  the  bones,  for  the  contimol 
current  of  the  water  has  sufficiently  cleansed  them  fix>m  all  fihh 
and  putrefaction.  Tis  likewise  reported  that  there  are  great 
heaps  of  dead  men's  bones  to  be  seen  piled  up  in  the  remote 
recesses  of  this  cavern,  but  what  brought  them  thither  there's  not 
the  least  glimpse  of  tradition  that  ever  I  could  hear  of  to  inform 
us.  Tis  true  I  remember  to  have  heard  one  tell  how  an  old 
Irishman,  who  served  for  a  guide  into  the  cave,  solved  him  this 
problem,  by  saying  that  in  days  of  yore  a  certain  carnivorous  beast 
dwelling  there  was  wont  furiously  to  lay  about  him,  and  whoever 
were  unhappy  enough  to  come  in  his  way  hurry  them  for  food 
into  that  his  dreadful  den.  But  this,  methinks^  has  not  the  least 
show  of  probability,  for,  in  the  first  place,  Ireland  seems  the  freest 
country  in  the  world  from  such  manslaughtering  animals,  and, 
allowing  there  was  some  such  pernicious  beast,  some  anomalous 
production  of  this  country,  then,  those  bones  being  supposed  the 
relicks  of  devoured  men,  one  might  reasonably  expect  to  find  'cm 
scattered  up  and  down  in  all  parts  of  the  cave,  rather  than  piled 
up  in  heaps  or  gathered  together  in  the  water.  There  are  who 
guess  that,  during  the  Irish  rebellion  in  '41,  some  Protestants, 
having  sought  refuge  in  this  place,  were  there  massacred  by  the  Irish. 
But  if  it  were  so,  methinks  we  should  have  something  more  than 
bare  conjecture  to  trust  to ;  both  history  and  tradition  could  never 
have  been  silent  in  it,  and  the  Irishman  I  just  now  spoke  of  must 
certainly  have  known  it,  though  of  him  indeed  it  might  be  said 
he  would  be  apt  to  conceal  the  barbarous  cruelty  of  his  country- 
men. Moreover,  'tis  observed  the  deeper  bodies  are  laid  in  the 
earth,  so  as  to  be  sheltered  from  the  injuries  and  change  of  the 
weather ;  they  remain  the  longer  uncomipted.  But  I  never  heard 
that  they  who  have  seen  these  bones  about  thirty  or  forty  years  ago 
observed  any  difference  in  them  as  to  their  freshness  from  what 
they  are  at  present.  Who  knows  but  in  former  times  this  cave 
served  the  Irish  for  the  same  purpose  for  which  those  artificial 
caves  of  Rome  and  Naples  called  catacombs  were  intended  by 


Cave  of  Dunmore. 

ancients,  i.c.  was  a  repository  for  their  dead;  but  still  what 
move  them  to  lay  the  bones  we  saw  in  the  water  I  cannot 
libly  divine.  Tis  likewise  very  hard  to  imagine  why  they 
c  at  the  pains  to  drag  the  corses  through  long  and  narrow 
usages,  that  so  they  might  inter  them  farther  in  the  obscure 
hs  of  the  cave;  perhaps  they  thought  their  deceased  friends 
Duld  enjoy  a  more  undisturbed  security  in  the  icmermost  chambers 
this  melancholy  vault '. 

Proceeding  forward  we  came  to  a  place  so  low  that  our  heads 
[most  touched  the  top;  a  little  beyond  this  we  were  forced  to 
cop,  and  soon  after  creep  on  our  knees.  Here  the  roof  was 
lick  set  with  crystal  pipes,  but  they  had  all  given  over  droppingi 
ey  were  very  brittle,  and  as  we  crept  along  we  broke  'cm  ofFwith 
IT  hats,  which  rubbed  against  the  roof.  On  our  left  hand  we  saw 
terrible  hiatus,  that  by  its  black  and  scaring  looks  seemed  to 
loetrate  a  great  way  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  And  here  we 
et  with  a  good  quantity  of  petrified  water,  in  which,  though  folks 
Vj  fancy  they  see  the  representations  of  a  great  many  things, 
1 1  profess  1  know  not  what  more  fitly  to  compare  it  to  than  to 
e  blearings  of  a  candle.  These  congelations  which  stood  in  our 
ly  had  almost  stopped  up  the  passage,  so  that  we  were  obliged 
<  return. 

I   will   not  deny  that   there   are  other   passages   which   by   a 

Lligent  search  we  might  have  discovered,  or  a  guide  acquainted 

ith  the  place  have  directed  us  to.     For  'tis  generally  thought  no 

le  ever  went  to  the  end  of  this  cave,  but  that  being  sometimes 

weed  to  creep  through  narrow  passages,  one  comes  again  into 

at  and  spacious  vaults.     I  have  heard  talk  of  several  persons 

fbo  are  said  to  have  taken  these  subterraneous  journeys,  parti- 

lilarly  one  St.  Lcgcr,  who,  having  provided  a  box  of  torches  and 

ictuaJs  for  himself  and  his  man,  is  reported  to  have  travelled 

r  the  space  of  two  or  three  days  in  the  untrodden  paths  of  this 

Trible  cave,  and   that  when  his  victuals  were  well-nigh  spent 

id  half  his  torches  burnt  out,  he  left  his  sword  standing  in  the 

^und  and  made  haste  to  return.     I  have  also  been  told  that 

I0iers,  having  gone  a  great  way,  wrote  their  names  on  a  dead 

I's  skuli,  which  they  set  up  for  a  monument  at  their  journe/s 


Dt.  Fool'i  p*pet  in  the  AnbiKiagirai 


■  probable 


5IO  Description  of  the 

end.  But  I  will  not  vouch  for  the  tnidi  of  these  and  many  odier 
stories  I  have  heard,  many  whereof  are  apparently  fabulous. 

But  one  thing  I  am  very  credibly  informed,  viz.  that  out  of  the 
first  cavern  whence  we  entered  into  the  two  caves  I  already  spoke 
of,  there  was  formerly  a  passage  into  a  tiiird,  which  has  been 
stopped  up  by  the  fall  of  such  pendulous  rocks  as  are  above  m- 
tioned ;  and  that,  about  thirty  years  ago,  a  grave  and  inqaisiti?e 
gentleman  of  these  parts,  having  gone  a  great  way  in  the  said 
cave,  sp/d  a  hole  in  one  side  of  it,  into  which,  when  his  man 
had  thrust  his  head  in  order  to  discover  what  sort  of  a  phoe 
it  was,  the  gentleman  was  amazed  to  find  him  speechless,  where- 
upon he  straightway  drew  him  forth,  and  firing  oflF  his  pistol  to 
put  the  air  in  motion,  the  man,  whom  the  stagnating  damp  had 
caused  to  faint,  came  to  himself,  and  told  his  master  he  had  seen 
within  the  hole  a  huge  and  spacious  cavern.  This  accident  dis- 
couraged the  gentleman  fix)m  prosecuting  his  journey  for  the  present, 
though  he  saw  a  plain  and  direct  way  before  his  face ;  nevertheless 
he  designed  to  return  soon  after,  and  make  a  diligent  inquiry  into 
the  nature  and  extent  of  that  mysterious  place,  but  was  prevented 
by  death. 

After  all,  I  have  known  some  so  unreasonable  as  to  question 
whether  this  cave  was  not  the  workmanship  of  men  or  giants  in 
old  time,  though  it  has  all  the  rudeness  and  simplicity  of  nature, 
and  is  much  too  big  for  art.  Nor  is  there  anything  so  strange  or 
unaccountable  in  it,  considering  its  entrance  is  in  a  hill,  and  the 
country  all  around  it  hilly  and  uneven ;  for,  from  the  origin  of  hills 
and  mountains  as  it  is  delivered  by  Descartes',  and  since  him  by 
our  later  theorists,  *tis  plain  they  are  hollow  and  include  vast  caverns, 
which  is  further  confirmed  by  experience  and  observation. 

Soon  after  I  finished  the  foregoing  description  of  the  cave,  I 
had  it  revised  by  Mr.  William  Jackson,  a  curious  and  philosophical 
young  gentleman,  who  was  very  lately  there.  He  said  the  account 
I  gave  was  very  agreeable  to  what  he  himself  had  seen,  and  was 
pleased  to  allow  it  a  greater  share  of  exactness  than  I  durst 
have  claimed  to  it.  He  had  with  him  an  ingenious  friend, 
who  designed  to  have  taken  the  plan  and  dimensions  of  the 
several  caverns  and  whatever  was  remarkable  in  them,  but  the 
uneasiness  they  felt  from  a  stifling  heat  hindered   them  from 

'  Prineipia,  Pan  Qnarta,  cap.  44. 


Cave  of  Dunmore.  511 

sying  in  the  cave  so  long  as  was  requisite  for  that  purpose. 
i  may  seem  somewhat  surprising,  especially  if  it  be  observed 
tat  we  on  the  contrary  found  it  extremely  cool  and  refreshing. 
order  to  account  for  this  alteration,  'tis  to  be  observed 
Kr>se  gentlemen  felt  the  heat  about  the  beginning  of  spring,  before 
be  influence  of  the  sun  was  powerfiil  enough  to  open  the  pores 
F  the  earth,  which  as  yet  were  close  shut  by  the  cold  of  the  pre- 
eding  winter,  so  that  those  hot  streams  which  are  continually 
rnt  up  by  the  central  heat  (for  that  there  is  a  central  heat  all 
^ce,  though  men  differ  as  to  its  cause,  some  deriving  from 
1  incrusted  star,  others  from  the  nucleus  of  a  comet  sunburnt 
1  its  pcrihelium),  remained  pent  up  in  the  cavern,  not  finding 
om  to  perspire  through  the  uppermost  strata  of  rock  and  earthy 
Fhereas  I  was  there  about  a  month  after  the  summer  solstice, 
phen  the  solar  heat  had  tor  a  long  time  and  in  its  full  strength 
[welt  upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  unlocking  its  pores  and  thereby 
rielding  a  free  passage  to  the  ascending  streams  ^.  Mr.  Jackson 
nformcd  me  of  another  observable  [fact]  that  I  had  not  taken  notice 
f,  viz.  that  some  of  the  bones  which  lay  in  the  water  were  covered 
r  with  a  stony  crust,  and  Mr.  Bindon  {so  was  the  other  gentle- 
nan  called)  told  mc  he  met  with  one  that  to  him  seemed  petrified 
throughout. 

Before  I  have  done  I  must  crave  leave  to  advertise  my  reader 
hat  where,  out  of  compliance  with  custom,  I  use  the  terms  con- 
[clation,  petrification,  flee,  I  would  not  be  understood  to  think 
iie  stones  formed  of  the  droppings  were  made  of  mere  water 
metamorphosed  by  any  lapidific  virtue  whatever  j  being,  as  to  their 
origin  and  consistence,  entirely  of  the  learned  Dr.  Woodward's 
opinion,  as  set  forth  in  his  Natural  Hisiory  ef  the  Em-th^",  pp.  191 
and  192,  where  he  takes  that  kind  of  stone,  by  naturalists  termed 
Stalactites,  to  be  only  a  concretion  of  such  stony  particles  as  are 
borne  along  with  the  water  in  its  passage  through  the  rock  from 
whence  it  distils. 


Vtrial  Mug:  and  of  ill  Effieli  ibal  il  had 
upon  tbi  Barlb.  by  John  Wootliraid.  M.D.. 
Pinhaor  of  Physick  in  Gtohim  Colkge. 
The  firlt  tditioD  appciral  in  London  in 
ifrgj,  and  the  tccond  in  1793.  The  re- 
ference here  ii  10  the  Gnt  edition. 


Whe  Biv«  I 

JpCCOlUian 


I 

« 


JOURNAL 


OF  A 


TOUR   IN   ITALY   IN   1717,1718.' 


Jan.  7,  1 71 7.  N.S. 

This  morning  I  paced  a  gallery  in  the  Vatican  four  hundred 
and  eighty-eight  paces  long.  We  saw  the  famous  library  in  that 
palace.  It  contains  seventy-two  thousand  volumes,  MSS.  and 
printed.  The  building  surely  is  not  to  be  equalled  in  that  kind, 
being  nobly  proportioned  and  painted  by  the  best  hands.  It  is  in 
this  form  |  the  greatest  length  about  eight  hundred  foot, 
The  books  are  all  contained  in  desks  or  presses,  whose  bads 
stand  to  the  wall.  These  desks  are  all  low,  of  an  equal  height, 
so  that  the  highest  books  are  within  reach  without  the  least 
straining.      We  saw  a  Virgil  in  MS.  above   fourteen   hundred 


*  [The  journey  of  Berkeley  daring  hit 
second  sojourn  in  Italy  is  partially  recorded 
in  four  small  volumes  (now  among  the 
Berkeley  Papers)  which  were  evidently  jiis 
travelling  companions.  Indeed  one  is 
almost  tempted  to  believe  that  they  were 
partly  written  in  the  carriage.  A  part  of 
the  record  is  in  pencil,  and  for  the  most 
part  is  still  legible.  These  journals  are 
printed  here  almost  in  extenso^  as  they  serve 
to  illustrate  his  habit  of  observing  ever3rthing 
that  passed  before  him  with  great  minute- 
ness and  accuracy.  They  form  also  a  very 
curious  Itinerary  of  a  part  of  the  Classical 
Land  of  Italy  not  often  visited.  Some  few 
quotations  from  printed  books  have  been 
omitted  with  a  simple  reference  to  the  pas- 
sages quoted.  The  Journal  is  kept  entirely 
on  the  right-hand  pages  of  the  volumes, 
and  these  quotations,  as  well  as  some  other 
notes,  are  inserted  on  the  left-hand  page. 
Where  it  has  been  judged  desirable,  they  are 
introduced  within  brackets,  with  the  letter 
M  (for  Marginal  note)  attached  to  them. 
It  will  appear  that  Berkeley,  being  at  Rome, 
did,  in  one  respect,  as  they  do  at  Rome, 
for  he  dates  his  Journal  according  to  the 
reformed  Gregorian  Calendar,  adding  N.S. 


to  the  date.  It  was  not  till  thirty-five  jan 
afterwards  (A.D.i  752)  tliat  England  adopted 
this  correction. 

The  volumes  have  no  connecdon,  exoq* 
as  far  as  the  dates  and  the  course  of  tbe 
journey,  indicate  their  dependence.  I  hait 
traced  the  route  followed,  for  the  most  pait, 
by  Orgiazzi's  Map  of  Italy,  and  Crainer'i 
AneUni  Italy;  and  I  have  occasionally  in* 
serted  names  in  notes  or  brackets  where 
there  is  a  variation. 

As  far  as  the  testimony  of  the  picscat 
record  is  concerned,  it  would  appear  that 
the  travellers,  after  a  lojoum  of  some  dmt- 
tion  in  Rome,  set  out  for  the  south  of  Italy. 
The  Journals  now  published  contain  no 
record  of  the  interval  between  Jan.  25, 1717* 
and  May  5,  171 7.  At  the  fonner  date 
they  were  in  Rome,  and  on  the  btter  left 
Naples  for  a  tour  in  the  more  soothcni 
portion  of  Italy.  Probably  a  volume  of  tbe 
series,  containing  the  Journal  of  that  illte^ 
val,  has  been  lost,  like  the  Sicilian  JoonaL 
We  find  that  the  travellers  weie  retoming 
in  September,  as  one  of  the  dates  in  the 
Journal  of  Naples  and  Ischia  is  September, 
1 71 7.  Indeed  the  time  of  their  retnrn 
seems  indicated  under  the  date  of  June  tbe 


youmal  of  a  Tour  in  Italy. 


513 


years  old.  It  wanted  the  four  disputed  verses  in  the  beginning 
of  the  iEneid.  They  shewed  us  another  that  seemed  of  an  earlier 
date,  but  it  was  imperfect.  Both  these  books  were  written  in 
great  letters  without  any  space  between  the  words.  The  first  had 
inter-punctuations,  the  other  none :  both  were  illuminated  with 
pictures,  but  those  of  the  former  were  much  more  barbarous  than 
the  other,  which  is  look[ed]  on  as  an  argument  that  it  is  less 
ancient.  We  saw  a  Terence  of  much  the  same  age,  as  we  could 
judge  by  the  character.  A  Septuagint  of  great  antiquity  with 
accents,  literis  uncialibus.  Henry  the  VlII's  love  letters  to  Anna 
Boleyn  j  and  his  book  against  Luther,  which  procured  him  the  title 
of  Defender  of  the  Faith.  In  his  letter  to  the  pope  prefixed  to  this 
treatise  he  plainly  assumes  the  composition  of  it  to  himself  (which 


9th.  The  latest  date  in  these  Journals  ap- 
pears to  be  April  13.  1718,  where  Berkeley 
describes  his  arrival  at  Rome.  They  visited 
Najdes  and  Ischia  on  their  return,  and  (as 
recorded  in  a  pencil  note  prefixed  to  the 
account  of  the  Postal  Stages  betveen  Naples 
«nd  Rome)  they  left  Naples  April  ii,  1718. 
One  circumstance  cannot  fail  to  strike  the 
reader,  I  mean  the  great  interest  Berkeley 
mppears  to  have  taken  in  regard  to  the 
Tarantula  and  the  Tarantati.  He  seems  to 
have  taken  great  pains  to  ascertain  the 
truth  on  this  matter,  and  upon  the  whole 
he  appears  fiivourable  to  the  belief  that  the 
bite  of  this  spider  causes  a  desire  for  dancing 
at  certain  times,  and  that  eventually  the 
dancing  effects  the  cure  of  the  disease,  when 
it  does  admit  of  cure.  I  believe  that  this  is 
not  in  accordance  with  the  result  of  more 
recent  investigations  *,  and  we  may  perhaps 
feel  tome  surprise  at  the  amount  of  evidence 
collected  by  Berkeley  in  confirmation  of  his 
view.  But  without  being  given  to  scep- 
ticism, reason  and  experience  lead  us  to 
conclude,  that  when  any  abnormal  affection 
of  the  nerves  exists,  we  may  expect  a  constant 
repetition  of  the  same  effect  in  different 
cases,  where  the  same  cause  exists.  The 
imagination  is  excited,  and  renders  the 
patient  prone  to  imitate  any  extravagances. 


which  are  thought  to  characterize  the  dis- 
eased persons.  I  do  not  think  that  such 
considerarions  are  sufficient  to  determine  the 
question,  which  is  one  of  evidence  only,  but 
they  must  be  always  taken  into  the  account. 
The  evidence  collected  by  Berkeley  from 
personal  observation  will,  however,  always 
prove  interesting,  whatever  our  conclusion 
may  be  as  to  the  reality  of  the  influence  of 
the  bite  of  the  Tarantula. 

There  is  another  point  also  about  these 
Journals  which  requires  notice.  They  in- 
dicate a  great  familiarity  with  classical 
writers.  The  left-hand  pages  very  often 
illustrate  the  journey  by  references  to  the 
ancient  geographers  and  historians,  as  well 
as  quotations  from  most  of  the  Latin  poets. 
Many  of  these  it  would  be  needless  to  insert, 
as  they  are  for  the  most  part  to  be  found  in 
Cramer's  Italy.  But  they  show  a  readiness 
and  exactness  which  were  not  so  easily  at- 
tained in  Berkeley's  day  as  in  our  own. 
There  are  also  many  quotations  and  refer- 
ences to  modem  Italian  books.  In  a  letter, 
or  a  kind  of  discourse,  addressed  by  the 
widow  of  the  bishop  to  her  son,  she  speaks  of 
his  very  wide  acquaintance  with  every  class 
of  books,  and  he  certainly  exhibits  in  these 
volumes  very  extensive  reading f.    H.  J.  R.] 


#  In  Curias  Animal  Kingdom,  under  the  family  Arachnides,  gen.  t.ycosa,  we  read  as  follows  :— 
*  A  ipecics  of  this  renus,  the  Tarentula,  so  called  from  Tarentum,  m  the  environs  of  which  it  is  common,  is  highly 
cel^rated.  The  poisonous  nature  of  its  bite  is  thought  to  produce  the  most  serious  consequences,  being  frequently 
IoUowmI  by  death  or  Tartntism,  results  which  can  only  be  avoided  by  the  aid  of  music  and  dancing.  Well-informea 
persons,  however,  think  it  more  necessary  in  these  cases  to  coml)at  the  terrors  of  the  imagination,  than  to  apply  an 
■itidote  to  the  poison  ;  medicine  at  all  events  presents  other  means  of  cure.' 

Several  curious  observations  on  the  I^osa  Tarentula  of  the  south  of  France  have  been  published  by  M.  Chabrlw-, 
Atad.  d«  Lille,  fascic.  IV.  Cuvier,  Eng.  Trans.  voL  III.  p.  307.  I  had  not  seen  these  observations  when  I  wrote  the 
remarks  I  have  made  in  the  text.— H. j.  K.  .     .    _. , 

t  In  Berkeley's  account  of  the  MSS.  In  the  Vatican  library  (Jan.  7. 1717).  he  mentions  a  •  Septnag^t.  This  must 
be  the  celebrated  Codex  B,  although  Berkeley  does  not  even  notice  that  it  contains  the  New  Testament  also. 
Nothing  can  shew  more  clearly  how  little  general  progress  Scripture  criticism  had  then  made ;  though  only  three 
years  afterwards  Bentley  procured  a  collation  of  that  MS.    see  Scrivener,  Tischendorf,  and  Burgon  s  Letters  fr«m 

VOL.  IV.  'l  1 


5 1 4  youmal  of  a 

1  observe,  because  it  is  doubted  by  some).  The  book  is  fairiy 
writ  on  vellum:  it  is  subscribed  by  the  king's  own  hand.  Tbe 
epistle  dedicatory  is  full  of  respect  to  the  pope.  I  read  the  fast 
chapter.  His  arguments  are  altogether  ad  hominem  and  ad  Ye^^ 
cundiam.  The  style  is  better  than  the  reasoning,  whidi  sbeivs 
the  prince  and  the  soldier  rather  than  the  scholar.  In  the  after- 
noon we  saw  the  statues  in  Belvedere  part  of  the  Vatican.  The 
principal  are  Cleopatra,  Apollo  (found  in  the  Baths  of  Caracalla), 
the  fiajnous  Laocoon,  and  Antinous.  These  are  all  masterpieces 
of  antiquity.     The  Apollo  and  Laocoon  can  never  be  enough 

admired. 

8. 

A  little  after  the  seventeenth  hour  Mr.  Ashe  and  I  waited  on 
Cardinal  Gualtieri.  He,  as  the  greatest  part  of  the  Roman  car- 
dinals and  nobles,  hath  his  apartments  up  two  pair  of  staiis, 
which  they  esteem  for  the  goodness  of  the  air.  In  the  alIt^ 
chamber  we  met  with  a  good  number  of  gentlemen,  lay  as  well  as 
ecclesiastic.  I  signified  to  a  gentleman  (a  knight  of  some  order, 
for  every  cardinal  hath  knights  and  counts  for  his  domestics)  that 
we  wished  to  kiss  his  eminence's  hands ;  upon  which  he  conducted 
us  into  an  inner  spacious  chamber  with  a  fire  (which  is  no  com- 
mon thing  in  Italy) :  another  gentleman  was  charged  with  the 
message  to  the  cardinal,  who  immediately  came  to  us.  He  is 
about  sixty,  a  jolly  well-looking  man,  grey  hair,  rather  low  than 
tall,  and  rather  fat  than  lean.  He  entertained  us  with  a  great 
deal  of  frankness  and  civility.  We  sate  all  in  armed  chairs  round 
the  fire.  We  were  no  sooner  seated,  but  his  eminence  obliged  us 
to  put  on  our  hats,  which  we  did  without  ceremony,  and  he  put 
on  his  cardinal's  square  cap.  We  discoursed  on  several  subjects, 
as  the  affairs  of  England,  those  of  the  Turks  and  Venetians,  and 
several  other  topics,  in  all  which  his  eminence  shewed  himself 
a  man  of  sense,  good  breeding,  and  good  humour.  He  occasion- 
ally told  us  a  curious  point  of  natural  history.  The  pope  every 
morning  regales  the  cardinals  with  a  present  of  his  own  bread. 
This  bread  used  to  be  excellent  when  his  holiness  lived  at  the 
Vatican,  but  upon  his  removal  to  Monte  Cavallo,  though  the 
same  bakers,  the  same  water,  and  the  same  corn  were  employed, 
yet  it  was  found  impossible  to  make  the  bread  so  good  there  as  it 
was  at  the  Vatican,  which  the  cardinal  did  imagine  to  proceed 


Tour  in  Italy,  515 

from  some  unaccountable  quality  in  the  air.  He  talked  to  us  of 
the  carnival,  and  invited  us  very  civilly  to  see  the  triumphs  out 
of  a  balcony  in  his  palace,  which  he  told  us  stood  very  conve- 
niently. When  by  our  silence  we  shewed  an  inclination  to  be 
going,  his  eminence  took  off*  his  cap  and  said  he  would  no  longer 
abuse  our  patience.  It  is  not  reckoned  manners  to  break  o£F  a 
visit  to  a  cardinal  before  you  are  dismissed  by  him.  The  form 
being  in  that  as  in  other  points  to  treat  them  as  crowned  heads, 
to  whom  they  are  esteemed  equal.  In  the  afternoon  we  went  to 
the  Villa  Borghese.  I  liked  the  gardens,  they  are  large,  have 
fine  cut  wallcs,  white  deer,  statues,  fountains,  groves ;  nothing  of 
the  little  French  gout,  no  parterres.  If  they  are  not  so  spnice 
and  trim  as  those  in  France  and  England,  they  are  nobler  and,  I 
think,  much  more  agreeable.  The  house  is  noble,  and  hath  the 
richest  outside  that  I  have  anywhere  seen,  being  enchased  with 
beautiful  relievos  of  antiquity.  The  portico  was  furnished  with 
old  chairs,  very  entire,  being  of  hard  stone,  coloured  red  in  some 
places  and  gilt  in  others,  carved  too  with  several  devices.  It  was 
too  dark  to  see  the  pictures,  so  we  put  off*  viewing  the  inside  to 
another  time. 

9. 
Our  first  visit  this  day  was  to  the  sepulchre  of  Cestius.  This 
building  is  pyramidal,  of  great  smoothed  pieces  of  marble.  A  con- 
siderable part  of  it  is  now  underground,  but  what  appears  is  about 
a  hundred  foot  in  length,  each  side  of  the  square  basis,  and  about  a 
hundred  and  fifty  the  side  of  the  pyramid.  There  is  a  chamber 
within  in  which  there  have  been  not  many  years  ago  several  antique 
figures  painted  in  fresco.  They  are  now  defaced  and  the  entrance 
made  up.  This  monument  lies  between  the  Mons  Aventinus  and 
the  Mons  Testaceus.  Having  viewed  the  sepulchre  of  Cestius,  we 
ascended  the  Mons  Testaceus,  from  whence  we  had  a  fair  pro- 
spect of  Rome.  This  mount  was  formed  in  the  time  of  old  Rome 
by  the  potters,  who  had  this  place  appointed  them  for  heaping 
together  their  rubbish,  to  prevent  their  choking  the  Tiber.  You 
see  the  mount  to  be  made  up  of  bits  of  broken  potsherds.  After 
this  we  went  along  the  Via  Ostiensis  (of  which  we  could  still  see 
some  remains)  to  St.  Paul's  church.  By  the  wayside  we  saw  a 
chapel  with  a  bas-relief  representing  the  parting  embrace  between 
St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul.    The  inscription  tells  you  this  is  the  spot 

L  1  2 


5i6  Journal  of  a 

where  those  holy  martyrs  were  parted  as  they  went  to  their 
martyrdom,  the  one  (St.  Peter)  turning  to  the  right  to  Montorio, 
the  other  going  to  the  Tre  Fontane.  St.  Paul's  church,  which 
stands  above  a  mile  out  of  the  town,  was  built  by  Constantioe: 
there  are  nevertheless  two  ranges  of  noble  Corinthian  pillars  on 
both  sides  of  the  great  isle,  that  seem  too  elegant  for  that  age,  in 
which  the  arts  were  much  on  the  decline.  Probably  they  be- 
longed to  some  more  ancient  building.  On  the  floor  of  this 
church  we  saw  a  column  of  white  marble  in  shape  of  a  candle- 
stick, for  which  purpose  it  had  been  made  in  Constantine's  time. 
It  was  all  over  adorned  with  very  rude  sculpture.  Under  the 
great  altar  there  lie  one  half  of  the  bodies  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul 
(the  other  half  being  under  the  great  altar  of  St.  Peter's).  The  rude 
painting  and  mosaic  deserves  no  regard.  1  must  not  forget  that 
this  church  is  very  rich  in  indulgences.  We  read  in  an  inscription 
on  the  wall,  that  an  indulgence  of  above  six  thousand  years  was 
got  by  a  visit  to  that  church  on  any  ordinary  day,  but  a  plenary 
remission  on  Christmas  and  three  or  four  other  days.  I  asked  a 
priest  that  stood  by  whether  by  virtue  of  that  remission  a  man 
was  sure  of  going  straight  to  heaven  without  touching  at  purga- 
tory, in  case  he  should  then  die.  His  answer  was  that  he  cer- 
tainly would.  From  this  church  we  ^ent  to  that  of  the  Three 
Fountains,  four  miles  from  Rome  southward.  This  is  a  small 
church  built  in  the  place  where  St.  Paul  was  beheaded.  They 
shewed  us  in  a  corner  of  the  church  the  very  pillar  of  white 
marble  on  which  his  head  was  cut  off.  The  head,  say  they,  made 
three  leaps,  and  a  fountain  sprung  up  at  each  leap.  These  foun- 
tains are  now  shewn  in  the  church,  and  strangers  never  foil  to 
drink  of  them,  there  being  an  indulgence  (I  think)  of  a  hundred 
years  attending  that  function.  The  altar-piece  of  this  church  is 
finely  painted  by  Guido  Reni.  At  a  small  distance  from  this 
church  there  is  another  called  Scala  Cceli,  from  a  vision  of  St. 
Bernard's,  who,  say  they,  as  he  was  celebrating  mass  in  this  place 
saw  angels  drawing  the  souls  in  purgatory  up  to  heaven.  This 
vision  we  saw  painted  in  the  church.  Underneath,  they  tell  you, 
are  interred  10303  Christian  soldiers  with  the  Tribune  Zeno,  who 
were  picked  out  of  the  Roman  army  and  martyred  in  this  place. 
All  these  odd  things  are  not  only  told  by  the  monks  or  friars,  but 
inscribed  in  marble  in  the  churches. 


Tour  in  Italy.  517 


10. 
Mr.  Hardy,  the  Abbate  Barbieri,  Mr.  Ashe,  and  I  went  this 
morning  to  see  the  famous  Famesian  Palace.  The  gallery  so. 
much  spoken  of  proved  smaller  than  I  expected,  but  the  painting 
is  excellent^  it  is  all  over  done  in  fresco  by  Annibal  Carache. 
Here  and  in  other  parts  of  the  palace  we  saw  several  fine  antique 
busts  and  statues.  The  principal  are  the  Hercules,  commonly 
called  the  Farnesian  Hercules,  the  Flora,  the  bust  of  Caracalla, 
the  flesh  whereof  is  wonderfully  soft  and  natural,  and  an  admirable 
group  of  Zethus,  Amphion,  Antiope,  Dirce,  and  a  bull,  all  cut  of 
one  stone,  done  by  two  Rodians.  The  two  young  men,  sons  of 
the  Theban  king,  tie  Dirce  to  the  bull's  horns  in  order  to  preci- 
pitate her  into  a  well  (as  the  inscription  on  a  tablet  hung  by  the 
statue  tells  you).  The  bull  and  the  men  are  incomparably  well 
done,  but  there  is  little  expression  in  the  face  of  Dirce,  which 
makes  me  suspect  the  head  to  be  modern.  The  easiness,  the 
strength,  the  beauty,  and  the  muscles  of  the  Hercules  cannot  be 
too  much  admired.  The  drapery  of  the  Flora  is  admirable,  and 
the  bust  of  Antoninus  Caracalla  is  flesh  and  blood — nothing  can 
be  softer.  In  the  afternoon  we  drove  out  of  town  through  the 
Porta  Collatina,  leaving  LucuUus's  gardens  on  the  left  hand  and 
Sallustius's  on  the  right.  We  got  by  three  a  clock  of  our  reckon- 
ing  to  the  Villa  Borghese.  The  outside  and  gardens  we  had  seen 
before ;  we  spent  this  afternoon  in  viewing  the  apartments.  The 
greatest  part  of  the  pictures  are  copies.  I  remember  some  good 
ones  of  Corregio,  and  the  famous  Battle  of  Constantine  by  Julio 
Romano.  In  the  apartments  of  this  villa  we  saw  several  excellent 
statues :  those  most  remarkable  of  the  antique  are  the  Hermaphro- 
dite, the  Gladiator,  and,  on  the  outside  of  the  wall,  that  of  Curtius 
on  horseback  leaping  into  the  cavern.  I  must  not  forget  three 
statues  of  Bernini  in  these  apartments,  that  raise  my  idea  of  that 
modem  statuary  almost  to  an  equality  with  the  famous  ancients 
— Apollo  and  Daphne,  iEneas  with  Anchises  on  his  shoulders, 
David  going  to  fling  the  stone  at  Goliah.  The  grace,  the  softness, 
and  expression  of  these  statues  is  admirable.  In  our  return  we 
took  a  walk  round  part  of  the  walls  of  the  city.  Both  walls  and 
turrets  were  pretty  entire  on  that  side.  They  have  stood  since 
Justinian's  time,  having  been  built  by  Bellisarius.     We  entered 


5i8  yourfial  of  a 

the  city  at  the  Porta  Viminalis,  stepped  into  the  Victoria,  a 
beautiful  church  encrusted  with  ornaments  of  the  richest  stones, 
as  jallo  antico,  verde  antico,  jaspers,  &c.  In  this  are  hung-up 
trophies  taken  from  the  Turks.  After  this,  we  paid  a  second 
visit  to  Dioclesian's  Baths,  admiring  the  lofty  remains  of  that 
stupendous  fabric,  which  is  now  possessed  by  the  Carthusians. 
In  the  pavement  of  the  church,  made  out  of  the  standing  part  of 
the  baths,  we  saw  a  meridian  line  (like  that  of  Bologna)  drawn  by 
the  learned  Bianchini. 

II. 
This  morning  Mr.Domvile  and  I  spent  in  looking  for  Greek 
books.  The  shops  are  but  ill  furnished,  and  give  one  a  mean  idea 
of  the  Roman  literature.  In  the  afternoon  we  took  the  air  on  the 
Mons  Quirinalis — drove  by  Montalto's  gardens  towards  S.  Maria 
Maggiore  and  S.  John  de  Lateran. 

12. 

In  the  forenoon  I  took  a  walk  on  the  mount  behind  our  lodging, 
on  which  stands  the  church  and  convent  of  La  Trinita,  overlook- 
ing the  Piazza  d'Espagne,  anciently  the  Naumachia  Domitiana. 
From  thence  I  had  a  good  prospect  of  Monte  Cavallo,  St,  Peter's, 
and  the  intermediate  parts  of  the  town.  When  I  had  amused 
myself  some  time  here,  I  walked  towards  the  Porta  del  Popolo, 
where  we  first  entered  the  town.  By  the  way  I  stepped  into  the 
church  dedicated  to  St.  Ambrose  and  St.  Charles.  I  viewed  some 
good  pictures  in  it.  It  hath  a  dome  and  a  handsome  fa9ade.  The 
Piazza  del  Popolo  is  contrived  to  give  a  traveller  a  munificent 
impression  of  Rome  upon  his  first  entrance.  The  Guglio  *  in  the 
middle,  the  two  beautiful  churches  of  the  same  architecture  that 
front  the  entrance,  standing  on  either  side  of  the  end  of  the  Corse, 
or  great  street  directly  opposite  to  the  gate,  carrying  the  eye  in  a 
straight  line  through  the  middle  of  the  city  almost  to  the  Capitol; 
while  on  the  sides  there  strike  off  two  other  straight  streets, 
inclined  in  equal  angles  to  the  Corso,  the  one  leading  to  the 
Piazza  d'Espagne,  the  other  towards  the  Piazza  Navona.  From 
the  Guglio  your  prospect  shoots  through  these  three  streets.  All 
this  I  say  is  contrived  to  produce  a  good  efiect  on  the  eye  of  a 

'  [Berkeley  distinctly  writes  Gaglio.     Th«  usual  form  is  Guglia,  which  also  mrans  a 
needle.} 


Tmir  in  Kaiy,  5t9'-| 

■v-coxaer.  The  disposition,  it  must  be  owned,  is  pleasing,  and 
if  the  ordinary  houses  that  make  up  the  greatest  part  of  the  streets 
were  more  agreeable  and  regular,  would  make  a  very  noble  pro- 
spect. The  Guglio  or  Obelisk  in  the  middle  of  the  Piazza  is  a 
noble  monument  brought  from  i^ypt  and  set  up  in  the  Circus 
Waximus  by  Augustus  Cesar,  where  it  was  dug  up  in  the  time  of 
Siscus  Quintus,  and  by  order  of  that  pope  set  upon  pedestal  in  this 
place  and  dedicated  to  the  cross.  It  was  the  same  pope  that 
caused  the  greatest  part,  if  not  all,  the  guglios  to  be  erected  in 
the  several  piazzas  of  Rome,  e.g.  in  the  Piazza  Navona,  Piazza 
di  S.  Pietro,  Piazza  di  S.  Maria  Maggiore,  before  the  Minerva, 
&c.  The  greatest,  as  everyhxly  knows,  is  that  in  the  Piazia  of 
St.  Peter.  Most  of  these  obelisks  are  scribbled  over  with  hierogly- 
phics. They  are  each  of  a  single  piece  of  granite.  Nothing  can 
give  one  a  higher  notion  of  the  stupendous  magnificence  of  the 
old  Egyptian  monarchs  who  made  these  obelisks  than  that  the 
Roman  emperors  in  their  greatest  glory  valued  themselves  upon 
bringing  them  from  Egypt;  and  the  most  spirited  of  the  popes 
looked  upon  it  as  the  greatest  event  of  his  life  to  be  able  to  place 
one  of  them  on  its  pedestal.  In  the  afternoon  we  walked  to  the 
Piazza  di  Navona,  enquired  for  books,  and  viewed  the  fa9ades  of 
several  palaces  by  the  way.  Over  the  doors  of  the  palaces  of  the 
cardinals,  princes^  and  public  ministers  there  hang  up  several 
coats  of  arms,  whereof  the  pope  regnant's  is  sure  to  be  one ;  e.  g. 
over  Ottoboni's  portal  we  saw  the  arms  of  his  holiness,  the  arms 
of  France  because  he  is  protector  of  the  French  nation,  those  of 
Venice  because  he  is  a  Venetian,  and  those  of  the  S.  P.  Q^R. 


Mr.  Hardy,  Mr.  Ashe,  and  myself  drove  in  the  forenoon  to 
St.  Peter's,  where  we  entertained  ourselves  in  reviewing  and  ex- 
amining the  stnicture,  with  the  statues  and  pictures  that  adorn  it. 
Of  the  pictures,  those  which  most  pleased  me  were  a  St.  Sebastian 
of  Dominiquin  and  the  assumption  of  St.  Petronilla  by  Guercino, 
the  chiaro-oscuro  of  the  latter  giving  it  so  strong  a  relief  that  it 
deceives  the  eye  beyond  any  picture  in  the  church;  and  the  body 
of  St.  Sebastian  is  a  very  fine  figure.  The  expression  too  of  the 
bystanders,  particularly  a  commanding  soldier  on  horseback,  is  ad- 
mirable.    Having  seen  the  palace  of  Farnese  and  the  Borghcsian 


520  JourtuU  of  a 

villa  since  my  being  last  at  St.  Peter's,  the  statues  did  not  near 
please  me  now  so  much  as  then.  You  may  see  grace,  beauty, 
and  a  fine  attitude  in  these  statues  of  Algardi,  Porta,  Bernini, 
&c.  They  have  sometimes  a  fine  expression  in  the  face  ;  but  on 
a  near  inspection  you  perceive  nothing  so  finished,  none  of  those 
delicate  contours,  those  softnesses,  that  life  and  breath  that  you 
discover  in  the  fine  antiques.  The  best  statue  in  St.  Peter's,  in  my 
judgment,  is  the  Dead  Christ  of  M.  Angelo  Bonaroti.  I  must  not 
forget  an  old  Gothic  iron  statue  of  St. Peter  that  stands  in  one  side 
of  the  great  isle,  the  feet  whereof  are  much  worn  away  by  kissing. 
We  saw  a  soldier  not  only  kiss  the  feet,  but  also  rub  his  head  and 
face  upon  them.  From  St.  Peter's  we  went  to  the  Loggie  of  the 
Vatican  to  view  Raphael's  pictures  there,  which  detained  us  till 
it  was  passed  dinner  time.     We  saw  nothing  after  dinner. 

14. 
In  the  morning  Dr.  Chenion,  Mr.  Hardy,  Mr.  Ashe,  and  I  enter- 
tained ourselves  with  the  sight  of  the  palace  of  Don  Li  vio  Odes- 
calchi,  Duke  of  Bracciano ;  where  we  saw  in  the  upper  apartments 
a  great  number  of  fine  pictures  by  the  best  masters.     I  remarked 
particularly  a  famous  one  of  Raphael's,  said  to  have  cost  fourteen 
thousand  crowns :  it  is  a  small  piece  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  with 
two  puttini,  our  Saviour  and  St.  John  the  Baptist :  it  is  full  of  life 
and  grace.     Below  stairs  we  saw  several  vaulted  chambers  well 
furnished  with  statues,  ancient  and  modern,  as  well  as  with  many 
beautiful  pillars  of  antique  stones,  the  mines  whereof  are  now 
either   exhausted   or   unknown.      From  thence  we  went   to  the 
palace  of  Prince  Borghese.     This  is  a  vast  palace,  the  salons  and 
chambers  spacious  and  lofty,  as  well  as  many  in  number :  there  is 
particularly  one  fine  vista  through  nine  rooms,  that  is  lengthened 
by  a  hole  cut  through  an  adjacent  house  (which  the  prince  bought 
for  that  purpose)  to  a  fountain  and  a  beautiful  passage.     In  this 
palace  we  saw  an  incredible  number  of  fine  pictures.     They  arc 
reckoned  to  be  seventeen  hundred.     Many  portraits   by  Titian 
that  seemed  to  breathe.     Fine  soft  graceful  pieces  of  Corr^io. 
Excellent  ones  of  Raphael,  Annibal  Carache,   Guercino,  Guide 
Reni,  Reubens,  Lanfranc,  Paul  Veronese,  &c.     I  must  particularly 
remark  that  famous  piece  of  Titian's,  where  Venus  is  represented 
binding  Cupid's  eyes.     They  shewed  us  two  pictures,  the  one  said 


Tour  in  Italy.  521 

to  be  nine  hundred  years  old :  the  other  since  the  days  of  Romu- 
lus^ it  is  on  metal  in  a  barbarous  taste,  and  represents  the  rape  of 
the   Sabines.     In  the  garden  we  saw  several  water-works   and 
statues.    In  the  afternoon  we  visited  churches,  particularly  the 
Pantheon,  and  the  two  principal  churches  of  the  Jesuits,  that  of 
Jesus  and  that  of  St.  Ignatius.    The  eye  is  never  weary  with  view- 
ing the  Pantheon.     Both  the  rotunda  itself  and  the  vestibule  dis- 
cover new  beauties  every  time  we  survey  them.     The  beauty  and 
delicacy   of  the  pillars  of  jallo  antico  within,  as  well  as  the 
grandeur^  the  nobleness,  and  the  grace  of  the  granite  pillars  with- 
out, cannot  be  too  much  admired.  Over  the  great  altar  in  the  upper 
end  of  the  church  we  saw  a  repository,  in  which  they  say  is  con- 
tained a  picture  of  the  Madonna  by  Saint  Luke.     They  pretend  to 
have  six  or  seven  more  by  the  same  hand  in  other  churches  of 
Rome,  but  they  are  kept  shut  up  (as  well  as  the  image  of  our 
Saviour  at  St.  Paul's  Church  that  spoke  to  St.  Bridgit),  so  that  it 
is  hardly  possible  to  get  a  sight  of  them  except  at  some  extraordi- 
nary time  when  they  are  exposed  out  of  devotion.     The  church  of 
St.  Ignatius  is  richly  painted.     The  ceiling  is  raised  by  the  per- 
spective of  Padre  Pozzo,  and  a  cupola  is  so  represented  by  the 
same  hand  in  perspective  that  it  wonderfully  deceives  the  eye  as 
one  walks  towards  it  from  the  door  along  the  great  aisle.  The  fine 
altar,  consecrated  to  pne  Gonzago  a  Jesuit  (styled  Beatus  only,  as 
not  being  yet  canonized),  is  well  worth  seeing^  the  sculpture  is 
fine,  and   the  pillars  very  rich,   wreathed   of  verde  antico  j   the 
floor  of  that  chapel  paved  with  the  richest  stones,  as  verde  antico, 
jallo  antico,  &c.     Here  are  likewise  to  be  seen  beautiful  pillars  of 
jasper,  with  counter-pillars  of  alabaster.     I  have  already  spoken  of 
the  church  of  Jesus,  and  the  rich  altar  in  it.     I  shall  only  observe 
that  as  these  two  churches  are  dedicated  to  the  two  patrons  of  the 
CMrder,  they  seem  to  shew  a  greater  respect  to  Ignatius  Loyola  than 
to  our  blessed  Saviour, — ^the  church  of  the  former  being  much  the 
greater  and  finer  of  the  two  j   besides  that  in  the  church  of  Jesus 
the  glorious  rich  altar  is  dedicated  to  St.  Ignatius. 

15- 
In  the  forenoon  we  paid  a  visit  to  the  Capitol,  where  we  met 
Dr.  Chenion   and   Mr.  Hardy.      Having  surveyed  the  statue   of 
Marcus  Aurelius   Antoninus  Pius  on  horseback,  which  we  had 


522  youmal  of  a 

often  seen  before,  we  went  up  to  the  top  of  the  convent  belonging 
to  Ara  Codi,  where  we  delighted  ourselves  for  some  time  with  the 
prospect  of  Rome,  the  Campagna,  and  the  Apennine.  Amongst 
other  hills,  1  took  particular  notice  of  Soracte. 

'Vides  ut  alta  stet  nive  Candida  [sic], 
Soracte/  Hor, 

It  is  ^  mountain  towards  the  north-east,  in  shape  something  like 
a  sugar-loaf.  Having  puzzled  one  another  with  questions  on  the 
buildings^  and  run  over  the  seven  hills,  we  visited  the  churdi 
famous  for  its  having  an  altar  built  in  that  very  place  where 
Augustus  offered  incense  Primogenito  filio  Dei,  by  the  admonitioa 
(say  they)  of  the  Sybil  and  a  vision  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  with  the 
infknt  Christ  in  her  arms  in  a  golden  circle  in  the  heavens,  whidi 
an  old  friar  assured  us  Augustus  saw  in  that  same  place,  and  as  an 
inscription  round  the  altar  testifies.  From  thence  we  went  to  sec 
some  statues  in  the  Capitol  a  third  time.  I  remarked  particulariy 
two  graceful  Muses  antique  on  one  of  the  staircases.  After 
that  we  paid  a  visit  to  the  Tarpeian  rock,  which  we  all  agreed 
was  high  and  steep  enough  to  break  either  the  late  Bp.  Bumef s  or 
any  man  else^s  neck  who  should  try  the  experiment  by  leaping 
down  3,  In  the  afternoon  we  saw  the  Villa  Pamphilia.  It  stands  to 
the  west  of  the  town,  in  a  very  delightful  situation.  The  gardens 
are  neat,  spacious,  and  kept  in  good  order,  Womed  with  statues, 
fountains,  &c. ;  but  the  prospect,  with  the  variety  of  risings  and 
vales,  make  the  greatest  part  of  the  beauty.  The  house  is  small, 
but  of  a  very  pretty  gusto,  well  furnished  with  statues  and  re- 
lievos (which  last  are  set  in  the  outside  of  the  wall,  as  in  the 
Villa  Borghese).  It  is  a  great  inconvenience  to  the  persons  of 
quality  in  Rome  that  they  durst  never  lie  in  their  villas  for  fear 
of  the  bad  air.  They  only  come  sometimes  in  the  day  to  hunt, 
or  divert  themselves  in  the  gardens.  I  must  not  forget  the  church 
of  S.  Pietro  Montorio,  where  St.  Peter  was  beheaded.  In  this 
church  we  saw  the  Transfiguration,  the  last  piece  designed  by 
Raphael.  From  hence  Rome  is  seen  to  the  greatest  advantage, 
the  fia9ades  of  the  houses  meeting  the  eye  as  they  fall  down  the 

'  This  is  an  allusion  to  a  remark  in  Bp.  Rwk  is  now  so  small  a  fall,  that  a  nun 

Burnet's  *  Letters  from  Switzerland,  Italy/  would   think  it   no   great    matter,  for  his 

&c.      In  that   hook,    2nd  ed.,  p.  238,  the  diversion,  to  leap  over  it,'  &c.     H.  J.  R, 
following  passage  occurs : — •  The  Tarpeian 


Tour  in  Italy.  523 

seven  hills  towards  the  Tiber  on  the  adverse  side.    This  prospect 
is  truly  noble,  and  I  believe  the  noblest  of  any  city  in  the  world. 

'    16. 

This  morning  I  spent  at  home.  In  the  afternoon,  Mr.  Ashe, 
Mr.  Hardy,  and  I  went  to  see  the  palace  of  the  Barberini.  It  is, 
I  think,  the  noblest  palace  in  Rome.  The  architecture  is  magni- 
ficent. The  situation  on  the  Mons  Quirinalis  delightful.  It  hath 
many  noble  chambers  and  salons,  being  of  great  extent,  but  with- 
out a  gallery.  I  much  wonder  this  defect  should  be  so  common 
in  the  Roman  palaces,  a  gallery  being  a  thing  of  less  expense  and 
more  beauty,  as  well  as  a  fitter  repository  for  pictures^  than  a  suite 
of  rooms  which  serve  to  no  use,  their  families  being  not  propor- 
tioned to  their  palaces.  This  palace  consists  of  two  apartments, 
that  of  the  Prince  and  that  of  the  Cardinal  Barberini,  both  ex- 
tremely well  furnished  with  pictures  and  statues,  especially  the 
latter.  In  this  palace  I  could  not  forbear  remarking  the  picture  of 
a  giostro  or  tournament  given  by  Prince  Barberini  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  the  Queen  of  Sweden ;  it  cost  him  above  seventy 
thousand  crowns.  The  ridiculous  part  of  it  was  to  see  a  great 
number  of  Roman  princes  and  cavaliers  marching  in  sumptuous 
trappings  and  great  order  to  attack  a  green  dragon  of  pasteboard. 
Amongst  the  fine  pictures  here  is  an  incomparable  Madeleine  of 
Guido  Reni,  reckoned  the  best  piece  that  ever  he  did.  The 
Madonna  and  Holy  Family  of  Perugino  is  the  most  valuable  piece 
of  that  painter  that  I  have  seen.  His  drapering  every  one  knows 
to  of  a  little  gout,  and  he  knew  nothing  of  the  chiaro-oscuro. 
But  for  sweetness,  grace,  and  beauty  there  is  enough  in  this  piece 
to  render  it  admirable.  I  must  not  forget  two  excellent  portraits, 
the  one  of  Clara  Famese  by  Gaetano,  the  other  by  Parmeginino : 
it  is  one  head  of  four  in  a  group,  that  which  looks  directly  at  you. 
It  is  perfect  life.  Here  is  likewise  a  most  curious  piece  of  art, 
the  bust  of  Urban  the  Eighth,  done  in  terra  cotta  by  a  blind  man, 
and  well  done.  The  antique  statue  of  Brutus  holding  the  heads  of 
his  two  sons  is  formed  upon  a  subject  that  should  express  the 
greatest  contrast  of  passion,  and  yet  there  is  nothing  of  it.  This 
and  another  statue  of  Diogenes,  both  large  and  well  preserved, 
shew  the  ancients  had  indifferent  statuaries  as  well  as  the  moderns. 
The  Diana  and   Adonis  of  Mazzuoli,  a  statuary  now  alive  in 


524  yournal  of  a 

Rome,  are  both  very  fine,  and  I  think  equal  to  Bernini.  Thqr 
shewed  us  a  piece  of  ancient  mosaic,  of  Europa  and  the  Bull,  8cc 
It  seemed  nothing  extraordinary.  But  the  greatest  curiosity  in  this 
palace  are  some  curious  pieces  in  fresco,  well  preserved  from  the 
time  of  old  Rome,  and  dug  up  in  Tivoli.  They  are  seven  or 
eight  in  number,  most  chiaro-oscuro,  or  painting  of  two  colouis. 
But  there  is  one  piece  of  a  Venus  and  two  Cupids  incomparably 
fresh  and  beautiful.  It  hath  some  resemblance  to  the  manner  of 
Guido  Reni.  In  this,  palace  we  saw  a  noted  statue  antique  of  a 
countryman  asleep.  Nothing  can  be  more  soft  and  natural.  There 
is  another  of  a  slave  eating  the  hand  of  a  man,  in  which  extreme 
hunger  is  expressed  with  great  art.  Upon  the  staircase  there  is 
the  noblest  antique  lion  in  stone  that  I  have  anywhere  seen. 
We  ended  the  day  with  a  walk  in  the  gardens  of  Montalto.  They 
are  very  spacious,  being  said  to  contain  three  miles  in  circuit: 
cypress  trees,  espalier  hedges,  statues,  and  fountains  make  the 
ornaments  of  this  place,  which^  like  the  gardens  in  Italy,  is  not 
kept  with  all  that  neatness  that  is  observed  in  French  and  English 
gardens. 

17. 

We  went  this  morning  with  Mr.  Hardy  and  Dr.  Chenion  to  the 
piazza  of  S.  Maria  Maggiore,  where  we  saw  the  ceremony  per- 
formed of  blessing  the  horses,  mules,  and  asses.  On  this  day 
every  year  people  of  all  ranks  send  or  bring  their  cattle  of  that 
kind  to  receive  a  blessing  from  the  fathers  of  St.  Anthony.  We 
saw  a  great  number  of  fellows,  with  their  horses  dressed  out 
with  ribbons,  pressing  forward  to  the  blessing.  This  was  dis- 
tributed at  an  office  in  the  corner  of  a  street  or  turning  by  a 
father  in  his  cap  and  surplice,  who  threw  holy  water  on  all  that 
passed  J  at  the  same  the  owner  of  the  horse  gave  him  a  tcs- 
toon  and  a  wax  taper ;  some  country  fellows  who  had  not  money 
paid  the  priest  in  fruits,  com,  or  the  like.  This  solemnity  lasts 
the  whole  day.  From  hence  we  went  to  Dioclesian's  baths.  The 
eight  entire  pillars  of  granite,  each  one  single  stone,  standing  in 
that  part  of  the  thermx  which  is  converted  into  the  Carthusians' 
church,  we  found  on  measuring  to  be  full  fifteen  foot  round  each 
of  them,  and  proportionably  high.  The  porphyry  bason,  which  lies 
in  the  yard,  is  above  six  and  forty  foot  round,  of  one  piece.     Not 


1  Italy. 


525 


hr  ftOTH  this  church  there  stands  another  entire  round  building 
rbich  was  part  of  the  thermae,  and  now  makes  a  real  cliurch. 
'laving  spent  some  time  in  viewing  the  paintings  here  and  in  an 
djacent  church  dedicated  to  St.  Susannah,  we  took  a  walk  in  the 
^rthusian  cloisters,  which  are  very  beautiful,  having  been  de- 
igned by  Micliac)  Angelo.  In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Ashe  and  I 
'isited  the  Villa  Medici,  on  the  Monte  Pintiano.  The  building  is 
landsome,  designed  by  Julio  Romano,  but  a  present  stripped  of  its 
►est  furniture  and  neglected.  We  saw  nevertheless  some  good 
tatues.  A  small  Venus,  excellent  ;  a  large  Cupid,  antique  and 
]Ood;  with  several  antique  busts  and  statues,  in  the  house.  In 
he  gardens  we  took  particular  notice  of  a  lion  done  by  Flaminius 
t^acca,  of  two  vastly  large  granite  vases,  of  a  single  piece  each, 
tnd  of  a  group  of  about  sixteen  figures,  Niobe  and  her  children, 
tntique,  well  done,  and  dug  up  in  the  garden.  From  thence  we 
vent  to  the  cafe  which  was  then  kept  on  the  piazza,  and  stood 
acing  S.  Maria  Maggiore,  on  account  of  blessing  the  horses. 

18. 
1  saw  the  pope  and  cardinals  at  St,  Peter's.  There  was  fine 
linging,  much  incensing,  carrying  about,  dressing,  and  undressing 
»f  the  pope.  His  holiness  was  carried  in  a  chair  with  two 
crccns  or  even-tails  of  feathers,  one  on  each  side,  protecting  him 
iom  the  air,  though  within  the  church.  Cardinals  officiated  at 
he  high  altar.  A  great  baldachino,  forming  a  sort  of  tabernacle, 
iras  set  up  for  his  holiness  between  the  high  altar  and  the  upper 
xaA  of  the  choir.  This  day  was  the  feast  of  St.  Peter's  Chair. 
Phc  guards  of  light  horse  and  cuirassiers  were  drawn  up  in  the 
liazza  of  St.  Peter's,  and  there  was  a  great  number  of  cardinals 
ind  prelates  with  fine  coaches  and  rich  liveries.  The  cardinals 
tad  some  three,  some  four  or  more  coaches  of  their  domestics. 
Cardinal  Aquaviva's  liveries  were  particularly  splendid.  They 
me  out  of  church  each  under  a  canopy  or  umbrella  to  his  coach. 
In  the  afternoon  wl-  saw  the  lesser  palace  of  Farncse  with  Mr. 
Terwhit  and  Mr.  Hardy.  The  gallery,  whose  ceiling  is  painted  by 
Raphael,  is  very  well  worth  seeing.  It  contains  the  Supper  of  the 
Gods  at  the  marriage  of  Cupid  and  Psyche,  and  in  another  piece 
the  admission  of  Psyche  to  immortality  in  a  council  of  the  gods. 
In  the  skirts  of  the  platfnnd  are  painted  other  figures  relating  to 


526  yournal  of  a 

the  same  design,  particularly  Venus  b^ging  Jove   to   make  her 
daughter-in-law  immortal,  which  is  excellently  well  expressed. 

19. 

This  day  we  resolved  to  spend  in  viewing  the  antiquities  upon 
the  Mount  Esquiline.  What  we  first  saw  was  the  Churdi  Delia 
Santa  Croce  in  Gierusalemme.  It  was  built  by  Constantine,  and 
hath  fine  pillars  of  granite  on  either  side  the  great  aisle,  thought  to 
have  been  taken  by  him  out  of  the  temple  dedicated  to  Venus  and 
Cupid  hard  by.  We  could  not  see  the  piece  of  the  holy  om 
which  is  preserved  in  this  church,  it  being  shewn  only  at  ceitaia 
seasons,  and  then  from  an  eminence  or  high  pulpit  appointed  (or 
that  purpose.  From  hence  we  went  to  see  the  ruins  of  the  temple 
of  Venus  and  Cupid.  It  stands  in  the  vineyard  of  the  Olivetans^ 
but  so  defaced  that  we  can  make  nothing  of  it.  Not  far  fron 
hence  we  saw  the  remains  of  the  Amphitheatrum  Castrense,  an! 
the  conduits  of  the  Aqua  Claudia  which  brought  the  water  fioB 
Frescati.  We  clambered  up  the  ruin  to  look  into  the  pipe,  whki 
is  built  of  huge  wrought  stones.  Upon  the  frieze  over  a  gate  it 
the  aquaduct  I  could  read  Caisar  Augustus  Germanicus.  The  vset, 
ruin  we  saw  was  the  Templum  Minervse  Medicse,  as  some  wil 
have  it;  according  to  others  it  was  a  basilica.  But  the  shape 
seems  to  refute  the  latter  opinion.  What  remains  is  a  decagonal 
building,  with  part  of  the  vault  standing,  and  large  niches  all 
round  it.  In  the  neighbouring  church  of  St.  Bibbiana  we  sawi 
fine  statue  of  that  saint  by  Bernini,  also  the  column  where  sfce 
was  whipped,  and  a  vast  urn  of  one  piece  of  alabaster,  whcma. 
her  body  lies  under  the  altar.  We  met  with  an  instance  of  b^| 
haviour  in  this  church  not  to  be  matched  in  Italy.  A  poor  bof  1 
who  gave  some  herbs  that  growing  [in]  the  church  are  supposed  { 
to  have  a  healing  virtue  from  the  saint,  refused  to  take  monef 
from  Mr.  Hardy,  who,  having  accepted  his  present,  thouglitl 
himself  obliged  to  force  it  on  him.  The  next  antiquity  fC 
observed  was  the  Castello  de  TAqua  Martia,  in  which  we  we»J 
told  the  trophies  of  Marius  were  hung  up.  It  was  of  brick 
a-piece,  with  something  like  a  great  niche  in  it,  standing,  W 
nothing  that  could  give  us  an  idea  of  the  fabric  when  entiit 
From  thence  we  passed  through  the  arch  of  Gallienusj  it  irt* 
plain,  without  those  bas-reliefs  and  ornaments  which  are  coo- 


Tour  in  Italy. 


527 


only  met  with  on  the  like  arches.  This  was  in  our  way  to 
Maria  Maggiore,  near  which  we  observed  a  prodigious  marble 
Ular  of  great  beauty,  raised  on  a  pedestal  something  like  the 
lonumcnt  in  London.  This  pillar  was  found  among  the  ruins 
"  the  Temple  of  Peace  in  the  Via  Sacra.  We  passed  through 
c  church,  which  is  one  of  the  four  Basiliche,  the  other  three 
dng  St.  Peter's,  St.  John  de  Latcran,  and  St.  Paul's.     We  stopped 

survey  the  chapel  of  Paul  the  Fifth,  which  is  most  richly 
k>rned  with  marble  incrustations,  fine  architecture,  and  statues, 
must  not  forgtt  that  as  we  were  going  to  our  antiquities  this 
lorning,  I  observed  by  the  way  a  church  with  an  inscription 
piifying  that  it  was  dedicated  to  the  Holy  Trinity  and  to 
.  Charles  the  cardinal-archbishop  of  Milan.  In  the  afteruoon 
c  intended  to  visit  what  remained  on  the  Mons  Esquillnus,  but 

the  way  saw  the  remains  of  the  basilica  of  Nerva,     The  wall 

noble,  of  rustic  work,  like  the  palaces  in  Florence,  vast  stones 
aped  one  upon  the  other,  with  an  irregular  jutting  out  here  and 
ere.  It  now  makes  part  of  a  nunnery.  The  pillars  that  re- 
ain  are  of  white  marble  fluted,  very  large.  The  next  curiosity 
c  saw  was  an  ancient  temple  of  Mintrva:  some  pillars  and 
itablatures  are  remaining,  with  relievos,  and  a  statue  of  Minerva 

the  wall.  These  near  the  Columna  Trajana,  in  our  way  to  the 
squiline,  where  the  first  thing  we  saw  was  the  church  of 
Pietro  in  VincoH.  We  took  but  a  transient  view  of  a  famous 
Hnb  here,  resolving  to  come  another  time.  Hence  we  went  to 
Thcrmfc  di  Tito.  The  ruins  above  ground  are  pretty  unin- 
dligible.  They  are  of  brick,  as  the  other  thermre,  but  the 
I,  &c.  one  may  see.  They  were  encrusted  anciently  with 
uuble,  as  the  other  baths  do  likewise  appear  to  have  been.  At 
me  distance  under  ground  we  saw  eight  large  galleries  or  balls, 
Lt  were  anciently  reservoirs  of  water  for  the  baths  of  Titus, 
le  walls  are  covered  with  plaster  as  hard  as  stone,  and  in  many 
ices  encrusted  with  a  sort  of  taitar  from  the  water.  In  our 
:urn  we  saw  a  piece  of  antiquity  which  they  will  have  to  be  a 
imnant  of  the  temple  of  Priapus:  it  is  a  small  rotunda,  with 
ght  only  through  the  dome ;  in  the  wall  withinsidc  there  is  a  large 
mical  stone,  of  which  they  can  give  no  account.  Hard  by  wc 
w  the  remains  of  the  circus  of  Sallustius,  with  the  situation  of 
is  gardens  and  palace. 


528  yourfial  of  a 

20. 

This  forenoon  we  saw  the  Mausoleum  of  Augustus.  What  not 
remains  is  a  round  wall,  and  some  vaults  which  are  supposed  to 
have  been  burying-places  for  his  liberti.  We  saw  some  scattered 
vases,  statues,  and  bas-reliefis.  This  monument  stands  in  the 
north-west  part  of  the  town,  between  the  Corse  and  the  Strada  di 
Ripetta«  After  this  we  visited  the  castle  of  St.  Angelo.  HaTing 
passed  the  guards  and  the  outward  lodge,  we  entered  certain 
passages  and  staircases  hollowed  out  of  the  Moles  Adriani,  whid 
was  a  solid  building,  the  lower  part  whereof  still  remains  and 
makes  part  of  the  castle.  It  is  of  a  round  figure,  seeming  of  no 
great  strength,  hath  in  it  more  room  than  one  would  imagine 
from  its  outward  appearance.  We  saw  amongst  other  things  a 
salon  painted  by  Perin  del  Vaga.  His  design  is  very  graceful,  and 
like  his  master  Raphael.  We  saw  another  large  and  fair  salon, 
painted  by  Perin  and  Julio  Romano,  with  a  g6od  deal  of  chiaro- 
oscuro  by  Polidore  Caravagio.  At  the  upper  end  of  this  hall  was 
painted  the  Angel,  and  opposite  to  him  at  the  other  end  the 
Emperor  Adrian.  We  saw  the  two  places,  one  where  the  archives, 
and  particularly  the  Donation  of  Constantine,  is  kept,  the  other 
where  the  five  millions  of  Sixtus  Quintus  are  preserved.  Both 
these  are  shut  up  with  iron  doors.  They  shewed  us  two  rooms 
handsomely  furnished,  which  they  said  was  to  be  the  pope's 
apartment  in  case  of  necessity.  In  a  like  apartment,  underneath, 
Clement  the  Seventh  was  lodged  when  prisoner  of  Charles  the 
Fifth.  When  we  saw  the  castle,  that  same  apartment,  we  were 
told,  lodged  a  Spanish  bishop  who  had  been  there  about  six 
months  by  order  of  the  Inquisition.  He  was  the  same  I  formerly 
mistook  to  have  been  lodged  in  the  prisons  of  the  Inquisition. 
Our  guide  told  us  he  was  never  visited  by  any  but  the  inquisitors, 
nor  allowed  to  go  out  of  his  apartment.  He  said  he  had  often 
seen  him,  that  he  is  esteemed  a  man  of  great  understanding,  has 
a  bishopric  of  twelve  or  fourteen  thousand  crowns  a  year,  and  is 
about  fifty  years  of  age.  We  saw  an  armoury  which  seemed  no 
great  matter,  the  armour  was  divided  and  hung  up  by  pieces  that 
looked  rusty  enough.  The  person  who  keeps  it  shewed  us  a  col- 
lection of  arms  which  belonged  to  criminals  executed  for  murder 
or  carrying  concealed  weapons.  Amongst  the  rest  the  pistol  that 
dropped  in  St.  Peter's  or  in  the  pope's  chapel  from  the  Prince  of 


Tour  in  Ilaly.  529 

PParma,  for  which  he  was  condemned  to  be  beheaded  by  Sixtus 
tQuintus.  Below  in  the  court  of  the  castle  we  saw  a  Greek  arch- 
J}isbop  who  had  been  fourteen  years  prisoner  of  the  Inquisition 
|d  this  castle,  and  was  lately  acquitted.  I  must  not  forget  the 
Itatue  of  the  angel  with  a  sword  in  his  hand  on  the  top  of  the 
pastle,  in  the  very  spot  where  he  appeared,  as  they  say,  to  all  the 
■ople  in  the  time  of  the  plague  in  the  reign  of  Gregory  the  Great. 
From  which  event  the  castle  takes  its  name.  The  bridge  of 
it.  Angelo,  which  leads  over  the  Tiber  towards  the  castle,  de- 
lerves  notice,  being  nobly  adorned  on  each  side  with  statues, 
tncient  and  modern.  From  hence  we  went  to  see  rhe  remains  of 
;  Theatre  of  Marccilus.  The  Doric  and  Ionic  orders  in  two 
nangcs  are  still  to  be  seen ;  the  Corinthian,  and  perhaps  the 
Composite,  being  destroyed.  Hard  by  we  saw  the  ruins  of  the 
Portico  of  Octavia,  as  we  were  told,  though  in  the  inscription  we 
pould  sec  mention  of  Pcrtinax,  but  not  any  of  her.  As  we  re- 
turned  home  by  the  Pillar  of  Antoninus  we  had  the  curiosity  to 
enter  into  it,  and  go  part  of  the  way  up  stairs.  The  staircase  is 
'hollowed  in  the  solid  stones  that,  being  of  vast  bigness,  compose 
the  column.  The  reliefs  with  which  the  outside  of  the  Pillar  is 
covered  from  top  to  bottom  are  not  reckoned  altc^ether  so  deli- 
cate as  those  on  Trajan's  Pillar.  In  the  afternoon  we  saw  the 
remains  of  the  Thcrma  Constantini,  being  only  an  old  wall  in 
the  gardens  of  the  palace  of  Colonna.  Not  far  from  hence  we 
saw  an  ancient  brick  tower  called  Torre  di  Militia :  it  hath  stood 
since  the  time  of  Trajan,  and  at  a  distance  seems  very  entire. 
We  could  not  come  at  it  because  it  is  hemmed  up  in  a  convent  of 
nuns.  It  is  a  pity  so  considerable  a  remain  of  antiquity  should 
be  rendered  inaccessible  by  that  circumstance.  It  is  not  very 
unlike  a  steeple,  being  of  a  square  figure  in  the  lower  part^  and 
the  upper,  which  is  a  tower  distinct  from  and  lesser  than  the 
under,  out  of  which  it  proceeds,  is  a  square  with  the  angles 
rounded.  From  hence  we  visited  the  Giardini  d'Aldobrandino 
(though  now  possessed  by  Prince  Pamphilio):  in  them  we  saw  a 
vast  number  of  ancient  statues,  the  greatest  part  of  which  had 
nothing  extraordinary,  many  of  them  but  indifferent;  some  re- 
lievos on  the  outside  of  the  house  are  excellent.  I  remarked  one 
which  I  cannot  but  think  represents  the  combat  between  Dares 
and  Entelius  mentioned  in  Virgil.     An  old  and  a  young  man  are 


530  youmal  of  a 

fighting  with  such  things  as  the  poet  describes  the  cestus*s  to  be.  1  ^ 
But  the  greatest  curiosity  in  this  house  is  the  ancient  picture  in  1 1 
fresco  dug  up  in  the  Thermse  of  Titus.  It  contains  ten  figures^  |  x 
representing  the  bride  and  bridegroom  on  the  marriage  ni^ 
with  maid-servants  who  seem  to  bum  incense  or  to  be  employed 
in  preparing  a  bath.  The  bridegroom  sits  on  a  very  low  sort  of 
seat  not  unlike  an  oriental  sofa.  The  bride  sits,  with  a  modcrt 
downcast  look,  on  the  other  side  the  bed,  in  conference  with 
another  woman.  The  bed  is  without  curtains,  and  like  enough 
to  the  modern  beds  one  meets  with  now  in  Italy.  There  are 
three  stands^  one  of  which  hath  a  wide  vessel  in  it,  in  the  chamber 
about  which  the  women  seem  to  be  employed.  The  attitudes  are 
very  well,  the  colouring  seems  never  to  have  been  good,  and  the 
drapery  but  of  an  indifferent  gout.  I  took  the  more  notice  rfthis 
piece  because  it  is  almost  the  only  one  extant  of  antiquity,  at 
least  the  most  entire,  the  rest  being  but  fragments  much  defaiced; 
those  shewn  for  ancient  paintings  in  the  palace  Barberini  being, 
as  I  am  since  informed,  done  by  Polidore  Caravagio.  This  old 
piece  was  found  in  the  baths  of  Titus,  where  likewise  were  found 
the  Apollo  and  the  Laocoon  in  the  Vatican :  as  was  the  Famesian 
Hercules,  and  the  group  of  the  Bull  and  Zethus  and  Amphion,  && 
in  the  baths  of  Caracalla.  We  ended  the  day  with  music  at 
St.  Agnes  in  the  Piazza  Navbna. 

21. 

This  morning  we  went  about  two  miles  out  of  town  towards 
the  north-east  to  see  the  church  of  St.  Agnes  without  the  City.  It 
being  the  day  of  St.  Agnes's  feast,  we  could  not  exactly  see  the 
pillars  or  inside,  they  being  hung  with  damask.  Here  we  saw 
some  very  bad  reliefe  representing  our  Saviour  on  the  ass,  Sec, 
four  columns  of  porphyry  at  the  great  altar,  on  which  stood  an 
agate  statue  of  the  saint,  and  in  the  convent  an  excellent  bust  of 
our  blessed  Saviour  by  Michael  Angelo :  it  is  incomparably  fine. 
Hard  by  we  saw  the  remains  of  the  Hippodromus  of  Constantine, 
and  the  Mausoleum,  as  some  will  have  it,  of  Constantia,  as  others, 
the  Temple  of  Bacchus.  It  is  round  and  entire.  A  circular  row 
of  double  figures  surround  the  altar,  which  stands  in  the  middle  of 
the  building.  Under  it  lies  the  body  of  Constantia,  which  was 
taken  out  of  a  vast  urn  of  porphyry  very  entire,  now  standing  in 


*  Tour  in  Italy.  531 

the  church.     It  hath  no  inscription,  and  is  on  all  sides  adorned 
with    indifferent    relievo    representing    winged    boys    squeezing 

-  grapes,  which  gives  some  colour  to  the  opinion  of  those  who  will 
\  bsiTe  this  building  to  have  been  the  Temple  of  Bacchus.  In  our 
3  Rtom  we  observed,  what  we  had  often  seen  before,  the  noble 
V  Fountain  of  Aqua  Felice,  built  and  adorned  with  fine  statues  and 

-  relievo  by  Sixtus  Quintos.  It  hath  three  great  openings,  whence 
t  the  water  gusheth  forth  abundantly.  It  stands  next  the  Thermx 
ji  Dioclesianse,  just  by  the  church  of  the  Madonna  de  Victoria, 
*  which  we  entered,  and  spent  some  time  in  surveying  the  statues 
r  and  pictures  of  that  beautiful  little  church,  particularly  the  statue 
;    of  the  angel  aiming  a  dart  at  the  heart  of  St.  Teresa,  wonderfully 

well  done  by  Bernini,  and  the  Madonna  co'l  Bambino  and  other 
^gures,  an  excellent  picture  of  Dominiquin's.  In  the  afternoon 
we  went  to  see  the  remains  of  antiquity  on  the  Mons  Celius.  It 
lies  on  the  south-east,  between  the  Aventine  and  the  Esquiline. 
As  we  passed  by  the  Coliseum  we  observed  some  ruins,  said  to  be 
the  remains  of  the  Domus  Aurea  Neronis,  which  being  of  vast 
extent,  reached  to  the  Esquiline,  and  stood  in  great  part  on  Monte 
Celio  as  well  as  in  the  plain.  We  saw  likewise  in  several  places 
the  remains  of  a  prodigious  aqueduct,  and  a  wall  with  several 
arches  consisting  of  vast  stones,  said  to  be  the  remains  of  the 
Curia  Hostilia.  But  the  chief  curiosity  on  Monte  Celio  is 
the  Temple  of  Faunus.  It  is  an  entire  building,  of  great  an- 
tiquity, round,  having  two  circular  rows  of  Ionic  pillars,  with  a 
good  space  between  them :  the  interstices  between  the  outer 
pillars  are  made  up,  which  anciently,  without  doubt,  lay  open, 
which  makes  it  probable  there  was  some  external  wall  that  com- 
prehended both  rows  of  pillars.  These  pillars  are  of  an  unequal 
thickness,  and  the  chapiters  but  ill  wrought,  though  all  the  shafts 
of  single  pieces  of  granite,  which  shews  the  building  to  have  been 
very  ancient,  before  the  flourishing  of  arts  in  Rome.  The  walls 
on  the  inside  are  painted  with  martyrdoms,  particularly  with  that 
of  St.  Denys,  who  is  represented,  according  to  the  legend,  with 
his  head  in  his  hands  after  it  was  cut  off*.  St.  John  de  Lateran 
being  on  this  mount,  we  made  a  second  visit  to  that  church, 
which  I  take  to  be  the  noblest  in  Rome  next  to  St.  for  the 
inside,  as  S.  Maria  Maggiore  is  for  the  outside.  What  I  had  not 
observed  before  were  four  noble  fluted  pillars  of  bronze-gilt  in  an 

M  m  2 


532  Journal  of  a   • 

altar  of  the  church  in  one  end  of  the  same,  which  was  built  by 
Constantine:  there  is  a  much  mosaic  and  gilding  on  the  roof, 
very  ancient,  probably  fix)m  Constantine*s  time.  The  cloisters 
of  this  church  are  of  that  emperor's  building,  and  well  worth 
seeing.  One  may  see  a  great  tendency  in  that  age  to  the  Gothic, 
the  pillars  being  small,  and  many  of  them  wreathed  oddly,  and 
adorned  with  inlaid  stones  in  a  very  mean  manner.  But  die 
most  valuable  things  are  the  sacred  antiquities  brought  fix>m  Jem- 
salem :  as  the  column — this,  I  think,  was  of  porphyry — on  wfaidi 
the  cock  stood  when  he  crowed  and  Peter  denied  Christ ;  another 
pillar  of  white  marble,  that  was  rent  in  two  on  the  sufiering  of 
our  blessed  Saviour.  Here  is  likewise  a  flat  porphyry  stone  set  in 
the  wall,  on  which,  they  tell  you,  the  soldiers  threw  lots  for  our 
Saviour's  garment.  I  must  not  forget  the  famous  porphyry  chair, 
which  some  will  have  to  have  been  introduced  upon  the  discovery 
of  Pope  Joan,  and  from  that  time  used  at  the  coronation.  This 
notion,  I  must  own,  seems  fabulous  to  me,  to  wave  other  reasons 
obvious  enough.  There  is  another  chair  of  white  marble  made  in 
the  same  shape,  and  another  of  porphyry,  broken,  now  to  be  seen 
in  the  same  cloister.  It  is  more  probably  conjectured  that  they 
were  used  in  baths  for  the  conveniency  of  cleaning  every  port 
with  more  ease.  This  night  we  were  heartily  tired  at  an  Italian 
tragedy  of  Caligula,  where,  amongst  other  decorums.  Harlequin 
(the  chief  actor)  was  very  familiar  with  the  Emperor  himself. 

22. 

This  day  Mr.  Ashe  and  I  went  about  five  miles  out  of  town, 
through  the  Porta  Capena.  The  first  antiquity  we  observed  on 
the  road  was  the  ruins  of  the  Temple  of  Mars.  Here  we  saw  the 
remains  of  a  great  quadrangular  portico  that  goes  round  the 
temple,  whereof*  the  substructions  only  now  remain.  A  little 
beyond  this  we  saw  the  Sepulchre  of  Metella.  It  is  a  round 
tower,  ^%%  foot  in  circumference :  the  wall  35  foot  thick, 
within  brick,  without  and  in  the  middle  stone :  the  outside  is 
covered  with  vast  hewn  pieces  of  the  Petra  Tiburtina,  which  ^^ 
mains  extremely  fresh  and  entire,  being  in  appearance  as  hard 
and  lasting  as  marble.  This  monument,  in  the  civil  wars  of 
Italy,  was  used  as  a  fortress,  and  hath  some  addition  of  a  diflFerent 
work  on  the  top  j  adjacent  are  the  remains  of  old  fortresses  since 


Tour  in  Italy. 


533] 


e  civil  wars  of  some  centuries  ago.     On  the  outside  towards  the   i 
road  we  read  this  inscription:  C/ECILI/F.  Q.  CRETICI  F.  METELL^ 
CRASSI.     It  Stands  (as  many  of  the  ancient  sepulchres  did)  on  the 
Appian  Way,  whereof  we  saw  the  remains  in  several  places.     On 

:  wayside  we  saw  several  decayed  ruins  of  ancient  sepulchres, 
but  which  was  Scipio  Africanus's  or  which  was  Duillius's,  &c.,  we 
ooutd  not  discover.  We  returned  another  way  to  Rome,  and  saw 
the  Orcus  of  Caracalla,  which  is  a  noble  remain  of  antiquity. 
You  see  a  good  part  of  the  wall  and  the  mets  still  standing. 
The  wall  plainly  shews  you  the  figure  of  the  circus.  It  seems  to 
be  near  half  a  mile  in  length.  At  one  end  we  saw  the  remains 
of  two  towers  where  the  racers  used  to  prepare  themselves,  and 
in  the  side  the  remains  of  a  building  higher  than  the  wall,  where 
s  thought  the  Emperor  and  his  Court  viewed  the  sports.  After 
this  we  visited  the  grotto  of  the  nymph  Egeria,  which  stands 
pretty  entire  from  the  time  of  Numa  Pompilius.  It  is  of  stone, 
and  the  vault  remaining.  In  it  we  saw  three  fountains,  and  an 
ancient  statue  of  a  woman  lying,  the  head  wanting,  and  maimed 
in  other  parts.  We  saw  likewise  in  this  grotto  some  vastly  large 
stones — larger  than  tomb  stones,  and  several  ancient  chapiters  of 
pillars,  that  seemed  by  their  little  delicacy  to  shew  themselves  of 
the  age  of  Numa.  The  next  thing  we  saw  in  our  return  home 
was  the  church  of  Quo  vadis  Domine  ?  It  is  built,  they  tell  you, 
on  the  very  place  where  St.  Peter  met  our  Saviour  as  he  was 
flying  from  Rome  to  avoid  the  persecution.  He  asked  our  Saviour, 
*Quo  vadis  Domine?'  To  which  He  answered,  *  Eo  Romam  iterum 

cifigi.'  Upon  that  St.  Peter  returned  to  Rome  and  suffered 
martyrdom.  In  the  church  we  were  presented  with  prints  of  this 
history :  in  which  it  is  remarkable  that  St.  Peter's  church  in  his 
lifetime  is  supposed  to  have  made  the  left  part  of  the  view  of 
Rome.  TTiere  is  an  old  pavement  runs  through  this  church,  which 
they  will  have  to  be  that  part  of  the  road  on  which  St.  Peter  met 
fMir  Saviour.  An  inscription  on  the  wall  tells  you  that  the  very 
stone  on  which  our  Lord  stood,  with  the  marks  of  His  feet,  is  now 
preserved  at  St.  Sebastian's.  I  saw  that  at  St.  Sebastian's,  and  am 
surpnsed  at  the  stupidity  of  the  forgery,  that  stone  being  of  white 
marble  and  the  pavement  in  the  church  of  common  blue  stone. 


534  Journal  of  a 

23. 

We  spent  all  this  day  in  our  lodging. 

24. 
Having  turned  off  our  coach,  in  which  we  could  not  so  con- 
veniently observe  the  streets  and  palaces,  we  took  after  dinner  a 
walk  to  S.  Pietro  di  Montorio :  by  the  way  we  observed  tbc 
fa9ades  of  many  noble  buildings,  particularly  that  of  Monte  Cito- 
rio,  where  the  courts  of  justice  are  kept  —  it  is  a  most  magni- 
ficent fabric^  and  that  of  the  Farnesian  palace,  in  which  I 
remarked  that  the  Ionic  pillars  are  placed  above  the  Corinthian, 
though  it  was  built  by  M.  Angelo.  We  looked  into  the  church  of 
S.  Carlo  de  Catenari.  It  hath  a  gilt  cupola  and  some  fine  pic- 
tures. We  saw  likewise  the  Mons  Pietatis,  where  the  charitable 
bank  for  pawns  is  kept.  The  chapel  belonging  to  this  building  is 
small  but  very  beautiful,  of  a  round  figure,  lined  with  fine  marUe, 
and  adorned  with  excellent  sculpture,  particularly  the  statue  of  the 
Madonna  and  a  Dead  Christ  by  Domenico  Guidi,  an  admirable 
piece.  In  the  church  of  S.  Pietro  Montorio  we  took  particular 
notice  of  the  famous  Transfiguration,  the  last  piece  designed  by 
Raphael.  Just  by  the  church  we  saw  a  small  round  chapel  of  the 
Doric  order,  built  on  the  spot  where  St.  Peter  was  beheaded,  with 
an  inscription  importing  that  it  is  declared  by  Paul  the  Third  that 
as  often  as  any  priest  shall  celebrate  mass  in  that  chapel  he  shall 
set  free  one  soul  from  purgatory.  Having  delighted  ourselves 
with  the  glorious  prospect  of  Rome,  which  appears  nowhere  to 
such  advantage  as  on  this  hill,  we  returned,  and  in  our  way  found 
a  Jesuit  preaching  in  the  open  air  in  the  Piazza  Navona.  We 
listened  awhile  to  him.  He  was  a  young  man  of  brisk  genius, 
his  motions  lively,  and  his  discourse  rhetorical.  The  Jesuits  send 
their  novices  to  learn  to  preach  in  the  public  places  and  comers 
of  the  streets.  We  took  the  Dogana  or  Custom-house  in  our  way 
home.  It  was  anciently  the  Curia  Antonina.  A  range  of  Corin- 
thian pillars  with  the  entablature  is  now  standing  in  the  wall  of 
this  building.  These  pillars  are  placed  nearer  one  another  than 
I  have  observed  any  other  antiques  to  be.  In  the  palace  of 
Verospi  we  saw  some  antique  statues.  I  had  almost  forgot  the 
Roman  College.  It  is  a  vast  and  noble  building,  governed  by  the 
Jesuits.     In  the  court  of  it  we  saw  a  list  of  the  books  read  and 


Tour  in  Italy.  535 

explained  in  the  several  schools.    I  observed  the  only  Greek  books 
they  read  were  Homer's  Batrac[h]omyomachia  and  ^Esop's  Fables. 

25- 
This  morning  we  spent  at  home.  In  the  afternoon  we  walked 
through  the  city  as  far  as  the  Ripa  Grande.  The  most  remark- 
able piece  of  antiquity  that  we  had  not  observed  before  was  the 
Fbnte  Senatorio,  of  which  a  good  part  is  still  remaining.  We 
visited  several  churches.  That  of  the  Madonna  di  Loretto,  it  is 
a  neat  small  round  church,  handsomely  adorned.  Over  the  great 
altar  we  saw  a  picture  of  the  Casa  Santa  carried  by  angels,  and 
the  Madonna  and  Bambino  sitting  on  the  top  of  it.  The  church 
of  St.  Csecilia,  which  was  first  built  anno  Domini  332,  we  saw 
several  fine  paintings  in  it,  particularly  a  fine  Madonna  col  Bam- 
bino by  Guido  Reni.  Here  is  likewise  a  very  rich  altar,  adorned 
with  lapis  lazuli,  agate,  &c.,  and  a  prodigious  number  of  silver 
lamps,  burning  night  and  day.  S.  Maria  delli  Orti,  a  very  beau- 
tiful church,  richly  encrusted  with  marble  of  different  kinds,  and 
embellished  with  painting  and  gilding.  There  is  particularly  a  fine 
Madonna  by  Taddeo  Zuccre  [Zuccaro].  In  the  church  of  S.  Fran- 
cisco de  la  Ripa  we  saw,  amongst  other  considerable  paintings,  a 
fine  Dead  Christ,  &c.  by  Annibal  Carache,  and  a  beautiful  statue 
of  the  Cavalier  Bernini's  representing  a  noble  Roman  lady  beati- 
fied. In  the  Palazzo  Matthie  we  saw  several  statues  and  some 
very  fine  bas-reliefs.  This  night  we  went  to  see  a  play,  with  in- 
terludes of  music.  The  play  broke  oflFin  the  beginning  upon  the 
principal  actor's  being  run  through  the  leg  on  the  stage  by  accident. 

Die  5*^  Mail,  A.D.  1717,  iter  auspicati  sumus*. 

Per  3  hor.  et  \  utrinque  tetissimus  ager,  vites  ulmis  frequent- 
issimis  implicate,  interstitia  frumento  &c.^  repleta.  Sylva  seu 
potius  hortus  videbatur  perpetuus.  Via  cumulata  pulverea  ex 
utrovis  latere  fossae,  sepes  rariores  agro  plerumque  patente,  in 
hoc  tractu  vici  2  vel  3  dein  Ardessa  urbs,  deinde  vicus. 

Per  \  hor.  prata  et  seges  aperta. 

Per  1  hor.  campi  latiores  neque  adeo  arboribus  impediti ; 
frumentum  8cc. ;  ulmi  insuper  et  vites,  sed  rariores  \  in  hoc  tractu 
vicus  insigni  domo  conspicuus. 

Per  \  hor.  prata  et  linum  a  sinistris  ^  frumentum  et  fabx  &c. 

'  [Commencing  from  Naples.] 


536  yaurnal  of  a 

a  dextris^  campus  ad  Isevam  apertissimus,  a  dextris  nonnihil  aibo- 
ribus  consitus ;  per  totum  iter  montes  a  dextris  sed  remotiores. 

Capua,  animz  7000;  seminarium  sub  patrocinio  Cardinalis 
Caraccioli^  studentes  80;  ex  iis  alumni  30;  xysti  ubi  scbolares, 
lecti  &c.,  pneses  CoUegii  Urbanus.  Vinum  bonum;  bibliotheca 
j-  ad  minimulh  librorum  ad  legem  spectant. 

Ecclesia  Cathedralis  in  qua  picturx  mosaicx  et  24  columnar  ex 
marmore  granito.  Urbs  ista  fbris  quam  intus  pulchrius  exhibet 
spectaculum. 

A  Capua  nova  ad  antiquam  iter  continuatum  est  per  \  hor.  ir 
planitie  ex  utravis  parte  frumentum,  cannabe,  ulmi  et  vites,  sed 
rariores,  tuguria  seu  domus  rarx. 

Porta  Capuse  veteris  Amphitheatri  reliquiae,  in  iis  arcus  foveis, 
et  ingressui  inservientes ;  saxa  marmorea  ingentis  molis  et  lateres 
adhuc  quasi  recentes,  pars  exigua  muri  extimi  in  qua  visuntur 
semi-columnae  ordinis  Dorici  sine  fregio  j  ulnae  (3  pedes)  600  circa 
orbem  exteriorem. 

\  milliaris  abhinc  visitur  specus  lateritius  fenestris  perforatis, 
supeme  tecto  cylindrico,  constat  xystis  tribus  in  banc  formam 
n  duo  longiorcs  pass.  135,  brevior  117,  jumenta  439  ibi  stabulari 
possunt,  nimirum  dum  copiis  inservit  Romanis. 

S.  Maria  di  Capoa  a  Capua  vetere  ad  Casertam  iter  patuit  unius 
horx.  Campi  utrinque  largiores  frumento  et  cannabe  consiti, 
ulmis  et  vitibus  cincti  juxta  viam  sepulchrum  baud  procul  a  specu, 
passus  82  in  circuitu,  cavitates  statuis  recipiendis  idoneae  14  ab 
extra,  murus  duplex  et  inter  muros  ascensus,  muri  ex  lapidibus 
exiguis  reticulatis  sive  ad  normam  adamantis  sectis  cum  nervis 
insuper  lateritiis.  Columnar  in  muro  exteriore  simplicissimac 
Aliac  nonnullae  reliquiae.     Vici  %  vel  3  inter  Capuam  et  Casertam. 

Caserta,  a  small  city  consisting  of  little  more  than  one  large 
square;  palace  of  the  prince  out  of  repair;  villa  about  \  a  mile  from 
town,  house  therein  much  decayed;  painted  pavilions,  marble 
porticos,  &c.,  shew  it  to  have  been  fine;  gardens  large,  out  of 
order;  walks  through  a  large  grove,  fountains,  grottoes,  statues, 
one  good  one  of  a  shepherd  playing  on  a  pipe.  These  made  150 
years  agone,  now  in  ruins,  though  the  prince  spends  part  of  his 
time  here. 


Tour  in  Italy. 


i6. 

Monastery  of  S.  Maria  del  Angelo,  pleasantly  situate  on  the 
side  of  a  mountain,  with  a  cypress  grove  behind  it,  J  of  a  mile   ' 
Aom  Caserta.     This  mountain  anciently  Tifata:  place  famous  for  I 
Hannibal's  camp  which  was  pitched  there. 

i  more  St.  Gracel,  small  village,  little  house  on  the  point  of  a 
lower  mountain.  Matalona',  open  pleasant  town,  well-built,  clean, 
an  hour  from  Caserta. 

J  more  through  an  alley  set  with  trees  to  the  Duke's  villa;  the 
house  Gothic  but  neat ;  grottoes,  waterworks,  statues,  beans,  peas, 
Icitchen-stufF,  tal!  trees,  laurel  hedges,  but  not  so  trim  as  ours,  the 
■whole  in  a  natural  noble  taste  beyond  the  French;  a  stream,  from 
the  villa  to  the  inn  an  hour. 

Corn-fields  surrounded  with  elms  and  vines,  hemp,  Indian  corn, 
lupins.  From  the  villa  onwards  groves  of  apricots,  some  cherries 
also  and  walnutsj  giuppi  supporting  vines;  apricots,  a  sometimes, 
3  frequently,  make  33  ounces.     Here  we  dined. 

From  the  inn,  plain  between  mountains,  the  plain  fruitJAilj 
thick  set  with  vines  and  truit-trecs;  after  \  hour  deep  road, 
suffering  nothing  to  be  seen;  \  hour  and  the  former  scene 
covered;  mountains  on  the  right  well  covered  with  trees  to  the 
top,  and  two  or  three  houses;  mountains  on  the  left  fruitful  only 
at  bottom;  hedge  runs  along  the  road;  deep  or  hollow  road, 

Arpac,  a  small  town  with  old  walls  and  towers,  taken  by  some 
for  Furca:  Caudinz.  Asps;  roads  paved  with  gravel.  \  bor,,  fields 
open,  corn  and  odd  trees  with  vines,  row  of  asfw  of  great  length; 
pleasant  village  on  the  side  of  a  mount  on  the  left.  A  small  close 
grew  {of  asps  I  think). 

35'  pass  through  Monte  Sarki,  pleasant  town  towards  the  bottom 
of  a  conical  rock,  on  the  point  of  which  a  castle;  dance  with 
music  of  pipe  and  tambour.  \  hor.  more  mountains  on  left 
expired ;  trees  thick,  open  country,  wood  on  our  right,  vale 
amidst  rising  hills;  well;  some  coarse  ground;  trees  few,  and 
few  of  them  with  grapes;  rivulet  through  the  bottom  of  the  glade; 
whitish  stony  soil;  low  vale  on  the  right,  rising  ground  on  left; 
a  or  3  bridges  over  the  rivulet;  shining  fiies;  moonlight;  bridge 
over  a  small  river;  Bencvcntum  ro  at  night.  Principato  Ultcriorc 
'  [M»dililoni  in  OrgietxCs  mip.] 


538  yournal  of  a 

overo  provincia  Hirpina  con  qualche  parte  di  Sanniti  et  Campam. 
13  cities,  bishoprics,  except  Beneventum  and  Conza,  both  ardn 
bishoprics;  good  wines;  nuts  and  chcsnuts;  many  fishing  waters; 
woods  full  of  game ;  cold  and  healthy. 

17. 

Beneventum,  situate  on  a  rising  ground,  often  su£Rers  by  earth- 
quakes; first  in  1688,  when  the  greatest  part  was  destroyed,  Lc. 
two-thirds.  Since  which  several  palaces  were  beautifully  rebuilt 
The  country  round  it  hill  and  dale,  various,  open;  inhabitants 
esteemed  10,000;  12  sbirri  and  12  soldiers  of  the  Pope's  in 
garrison.  Archbishop,  Cardinal  Ursini,  his  library  chiefly  law  and 
scholastic  divinity;  character  good,  the  miracle  of  his  being  saved 
in  an  earthquake  by  the  intercession  of  St.  Philippo  Neri  painted 
in  his  chapel.  Handsome  place,  hall  hung  with  arms  of  archbi- 
shops ;  souls  in  his  diocese  91,985,  secular  clergy  1405.  The  statue 
of  the  Bubalus,  that  of  the  lion,  ugly,  [?]  on  a  pillar  near  the  castle; 
the  Porta  Aurea,  with  the  respective  inscriptions ;  divers  statues 
and  pieces  of  statues  of  lions,  those  probably  the  arms  of  Bene- 
ventum. Streets  paved  with  marble,  many  fragments  of  antiquity 
in  the  walls  of  houses,  friezes,  architraves,  &c.  broken.  Amphi- 
theatre, the  ruins  of  it  consisting  of  prodigious  stones  and  brick- 
work, like  those  of  Rome  and  Capua,  though  not  near  so  much 
remaining.  ^Cathedral  clean  and  in  good  repair;  granite  pillars 
ten,  built  supposedly  on  the  foundation  of  an  old  temple,  several 
fragments  of  the  like  pillars  lying  in  the  streets;  this  city  refiige 
for  banditti,  ill-looking  folks ;  our  landlord  murdered  (I  think)  7. 
Some  ruins  of  temples  at  some  distance  in  the  environs  of  the 
town.  Papal  territory  2  miles  one  side,  3  on  the  other ;  city  poor 
and  mean.  Beneventum  came  into  the  hands  of  the  Pope  in  the 
eleventh  century.  Said  to  have  been  built  by  Diomedes,  king  of 
iEtolia. 

Set  out  from  Beneventum  at  5  hours  English  in  the  evening. 
Gentle  hills  and  vales,  pleasant,  various,  fruitful,  like  England; 
vines  round  poles  on  left;  corn  pasture  for  oxen,  a  few.  5  h.+4om., 
olives  on  the  right,  open  roads.  6  h.,  asps  with  vines  round  them 
on  right.  6h.-|-8m.,  hedge-rows,  wild  roses  in  the  hedges,  fniitfiil 
hills  all  the  way  in  view  on  our  right.  Few  oxen,  2  or  3  sheep, 
fern   and   bushes,   lakes  and   pleasant   hedges;  several   beautiful 


Tour  in  Italy. 

s  with  red,  yellow,  and  blue  flowers,  the  deep  red  flower 
kably  beautiful  and  predominant;  trees  with  vines.  Terra 
Nuova,  a  pleasant  village  on  the  hills  on  right;  vineyards  left, 
com  right;  few  sheep,  asses,  and  oxen,  jh.-f  lom.,  palace  of  the 
Marchcsc  Santo  Gcorgio;  trees  and  vines  thick  right  and  left. 
Nlonte  Fusco  and  Monte  Mileto,  pleasant  towns  on  points  of  hills 
on  right ;  trees,  vines,  and  corn  right  and  left ;  open  roads,  trees 
and  vines  thick,  delicious  scene  as  various  and  better  planted  than 
Txjund  Beneventum.  7  h,  +  J,  painted  meadows ;  2  towns  on  the 
sides  of  hills  on  our  right ;  vineyards  left,  corn  right ;  lupins ;  de- 
Ijghtfiil  opening  of  great  extent ;  shrubs ;  open  region  continued, 
like  Ireland ;  river  Galore ;  stony  road  along  the  side  of  it ;  bridge, 
on  the  other  side  of  which  at  a  small  distance  a  single-house  seen. 
18. 

Set  out  at  five  in  the  morning  from  Ponte  Galore ;  country  open, 
wavy,  various,  less  fruitful  than  the  day  bcfi.>re,  but  thinly  in- 
habited ;  procession  out  of  a  small  town  (I  think  La  Grotta),  to 
implore  rain ;  3  confraternities,  crosses,  standards,  girls  crowned 
with  leaves  some,  and  some  with  thorns,  all  barefoot  but  the  priests 
and  friars. 

Short  chasm. 

Shrubs  on  right,  pasture  left,  vines  round  reeds  on  the  sides  of 
ihe  hills  in  our  first  ascent  to  the  city.  Grottoes  in  the  side  of  the 
fock  inhabited,  several  one  above  another.  Ariano,  |»or  city  on 
a  hill.  The  environs  hilly;  bare  open  ground;  alphabet  over  the 
bishop's  gate;  Spina  Santa  carried  in  procession,  crosses  on  men's 
shoulders,  men  and  women  after  the  clergy  of  all  orders.  Bread 
good,  water  bad,  which  probably  made  some  think  it  the  Equus 
Tuticus  of  Horace,  which  opinion  confuted  by  Cluverius,  or  rather 
the  town  '  quod  versu  diccre  non  est,*  for  it  is  not  doubted  to  be 
the  Equus  Tuticus  built  by  Diomcdes.  Having  dined  and  walked 
round  the  town,  set  out  from  Ariano  at  ^h  +  J:  vines  opening 
scene,  and  grove  on  right,  some  corn,  some  pasture,  indifferent  soil 
and  a  few  sheep;  hilb  all  round  and  those  naked;  a  great  hollow 
glade  on  the  left,  another  on  the  right.  A  wide  plain  before  like 
a  theatre,  and  a  semicircle  of  hills  lacii^  us.  This  plain  mostly 
pasture,  two  flocks  of  black  sheep  on  it,  no  trees,  bridge  over  a 
small  stream ;  valley  after  the  plain,  bridge  over  the  fbntane,  all 
mountains,  Savigni  right, Gricci  left.   5  h.  +  53  m.,  shrubs  right  and 


4 


540  yournal  of  a 

left,  wood  on  the  hills,  stony  road,  pleasant  vale,  oaks,  &c;  bta 
esculeta;  long  stony  road  through  a  forest,  fountain  seeming 
ancient  with  wall  of  great  stones.  Still  forest,  moonlight,  li^- 
nings  without  thunder;  lo  a  clock  arrive  at  a  large  waste  imi 
(i.  e.  little  inhabited  for  the  size,  having  the  country  palace  of 
some  nobleman),  called  Ponte  Bovino. 

19- 

Set  out  at  six  J  bridge  over  Cervaro,  bridge  without  water,  as 
two  or  three  yesterday  j  hills.  Troja,  a  city  on  left  on  a  rising 
ground;  coarse  ground,  wood.  6  h.+ 50  m.,  large  plain;  black  sandy 
soil  between  naked  hills;  com,  a  little  shrub,  much  the  greats 
part  poor  pasture.  loj,  Ardona*,  anciently  Ardonea,  now  only  an 
inn.  At  2^  set  out  from  Ardona;  the  same  vast  plain,  parched, 
poor,  hardly  any  com  or  houses  to  be  seen ;  mountains  at  a  great 
distance,  sometimes  on  right,  sometimes  on  left,  sometimes  on 
both ;  a  tree  here  and  there,  a  wood,  some  groves  at  a  distance  on 
left;  granary  of  the  Jesuits;  30  carts;  com  throughout  Apulia 
burnt  up  this  year.  5  h.,  the  sea  appears  on  left.  6  h.  -f  ^,  we  come 
to  La  Cerignola,  a  village  well  enough  built;  in  it  4  convents 
and  the  palace  of  a  prince;  passed  the  Aufidus  at  94-^  over  an 
old  bridge ;  came  to  Canusium,  now  Canosa,  at  10+  i*  [N.B.  On 
passing  the  Aufidus  the  ground  grew  unequal.  After  much  Pander- 
ing in  the  dark  and  clambering  in  our  chaises  over  places  out  of 
th&  way  we  arrived  at  Canosa.     M.] 

20. 

In  Canusium  old  bad  statue,  castle;  poor  town  on  a  low  hill; 
land  round  it  looked  poor,  great  part  plain,  the  rest  gentle  risings; 
no  trees ;  monument  of  Boemund  very  magnificent  for  that  age, 
being  the  Greek  architecture  of  the  Secolo  basso.  Catacombs, 
therein  niches,  in  some  whereof  six  or  seven  hollows  like  troughs 
for  dead  bodies,  all  out  of  soft  rock ;  grottoes,  old  temple  with  four 
porches,  afterwards  had  been  turned  to  a  church;  Roman  ruins 
mistaken  for  those  of  a  monastery,  huge  brick  walls  and  fragments 
of  pillars  shew  antiquity;  old  gate,  brick,  with  the  arch  entire; 
ruins  fiiU  of  odd  insects,  lizards,  serpents,  tarantulas,  scorpions, 
&c.,  the  earth  full  of  holes  for  them ;  some  old  pieces  of  wall,  but 
nothing  entire  seen  at  a  distance.     N.B.  At  Canosa  I  saw  the 

•  [Ordooa,  Org^ 


Toitr  in  Italy.  541 

tllow  readiog  a  book  that  he  knew  not  a  word  of  out  of  devotion, 
torn  Canusium  to  CannsE,  about  six  miles  by  the  side  of  the 
nfidusj  this  a  river  that  would  be  thought  small  In  England,  with 
Eep  banks.    Cannae,  its  few  ruins  on  a  small  hill,  being  fragments 

■  white  marble  pillars,  bits  of  walls,  wrought  stones,  &c,,  nothing 
Field  of  battle  must  have  been  the  plain  between  Caaose 

id  Canosa,  on  the  bank  of  the  Aufidus  \  on  the  other  side  the 
ain  a  gentle  rising  ground;  land  between  Cannz  and  Barlctta 
anted  with  corn  on  the  side  next  the  sea;  the  Spur  of  Italy  in 

ew. 

Barlctta,  in  a  plain  by  the  sea-side  ^  bishoprick ;  inhabitants  last 
r  11,500  (so  the  Prior  of  the  Theatines  assured  us);  wide,  fair, 
rll-buJIt  streets,  all  hewn  stone,  diamond-cut,  rustic;  cathedral 

or;  Colossus,  in  bronze,  in  the  principal  street  of  the  town  of 

rraclius.  In  the  Jesuits'  church  this  epitaph :  *  Hectoris  a  Marra 
atris  memorix,  scternitati,  a  marl  marmor  as  aurcum  Antonius  a 
farra  posuit.'  2  convents,  5  nunneries,  Theatines  8,  Jesuits  10. 
otonius  a  Marra's  altar  in  the  Jesuits'  cost  18,000  ducats,  besides 
Ihcr  benefactions  given  and  expected;  he  the  only  benefactor, 
b^atines' poor  library;  their  Prior,  or  properly  their  Padre  Vicario's 
ibtnet  of  pasteboard  fruit  shewed  by  him  as  a  great  curiosity;  the 
iemontcsc  father  who  talk  of  play  and  the  court  with  gusto,  &c. 
l.B.  At  Barletta  the  inn  was  only  for  mules  or  horses;  we  found 
tverthelcss  a  camera  locanda  in  a  private  house,  with  good  beds, 
Cy  but  we  bought  our  own  provisions. 

N.B.  The  P.  Vicario  tells  us  of  the  tarantula,  he  cured  several 
ith  the  tongue  of  the  serpente  impetrito  found  in  Malta,  and 
eepcd  in  wine  and  drunk  after  the  ninth  or  last  dance,  there 
ring  3  dances  a  day  for  three  days ;  on  the  death  of  the  tarantula 

\  malady  ceases;  it  is  communicated  by  eating  fruit  bit  by  a 
lantula.  He  thinks  it  not  a  fiction,  having  cured  among  others 
Capucin,  whom  he  could  not  think  would  feign  for  the  sake  of 
mcing.     The  patients  affect  different  coloured  hangings.     Thus 

■  the  father.  N.B.  The  peasant  at  Canosa  told  us  his  way  of 
Itching  the  tarantula,  which  takes  the  end  of  a  straw  wet  with 

ittic  and  thrust  into  the  hole  in  his  mouth  on  the  man's 
histling,  and  suffers  himself  to  be  drawn  out.  One  peasant  at 
^osa  was  afraid  of  them,  while  his  companion  laughed  and  said 
t  had  taken  them  without  harm  in  his  hands. 


I 


542  yaurnal  of  a 

21. 

Left  Barletta  at  6  in  the  mornings  along  the  sea-side;  ooni,a 
few  vineyards,  and  enclosures  on  each  side  the  road,  some  stony 
and  open,  uncultivated,  after  that  open  with  low  shrubs.  7J, 
enclosures,  corn,  vines,  figs  on  right  and  left.  N.B.  Square  low 
towers  begun  to  be  observed  this  morning  at  certain  distances 
along  the  coast,  being  spy-towers  against  the  Turks.  7.38',  close 
by  the  sea  on  left;  vines,  figs,  and  other  fruit-trees  all  the  way  to 
Trani;  strike  ofFfrom  the  sea  a  little  in  the  road  to  Trani,  just 
before  we  enter  the  city.  This  city,  as  Barletta,  paved  and  built 
almost  entirely  of  white  marble;  noble  cathedral,  Gothic,*  of  white 
marble,  in  the  nave  two  double  rows  of  columns  made  out  of  the 
fragments  of  old  pillars,  granite,  &c. ;  pieces  of  pillars  lying  in  the 
streets ;  port  stopped  or  choked ;  piracies  of  the  Turks  make  it 
unsafe  travelling  by  night;  inhabitants  7,000;  convents  5  or  6; 
archbishop;  poor  library  of  the  left  convent,  viz.  the  Dominicans; 
a  thousand  crowns  per  annum  make  the  revenue  of  that  convent; 
6,  8,  or  10  go  to  a  convent  in  these  towns.  N.B.  The  muscatell 
of  Trani  excellent.  [N.B.  Ports  of  Trani  and  Brindisi  choaked 
by  the  Spaniards  to  suppress  commerce.     M.] 

From  Trani  in  something  above  an  hour  we  reached  Biseglia; 
road  lay  through  vines,  pomegranates,  olives,  figs,  almonds,  &c., 
and  enclosures,  part  hedge,  part  loose  stone  walls.  Biseglia  is  a 
city  on  the  coast,  beautiful,  well-built;  the  lower  part  white 
marble,  of  the  town,  walls,  and  houses,  the  rest  hewn  stone;  without 
the  town-wall  a  fosse.  N.B.  Walls  likewise  and  bastions  round 
the  two  last  towns,  but  nothing  of  considerable  strength  observed 
by  us.  Biseglia,  as  divers  other  cities  in  Apulia,  suflFered  much  in 
an  earthquake  15  years  before,  of  which  several  signs  remaining  in 
palaces  repaired,  cracks  in  the  walls,  &c.  Handsome  palaces  of 
the  Durazzi,  Flori,  and  other  nobles;  the  taste  noble  and  unaffected, 
were  it  not  for  the  diamond  cut  in  some  facades;  1500  families,  or 
as  others  reckon  8  or  9,000  souls ;  commerce  of  this  and  the  two 
foregoing  towns,  corn,  oil,  almonds,  &c. ;  small,  insecure,  pitiful 
port  for  Tartan  boats,  &c.;  convents  5,  nunneries  2 ;  a  bishoprick. 
The  environs  full  of  villas  and  charming  gardens;  no  inn  in  this 
town,  an  auberge  for  horses  only  without  the  walls.  From  Biseglia 
to  Molfetta  5  miles,  the  road  very  stony,  loose  stone  walls  on  both 
sides ;  the  same  fruits  and  corn,  but  olives  in  greatest  quantity;  the 


Tour  in  Italy.  543 

;quare  towers  still  along  the  coast,  the  sea  a  field^s  breadth  distant 
>n  the  left ;  the  last  mile  we  coasted  close ;  little  or  no  strand ;  no 
mountain  all  this  day  in  sight.  Morfeta,  a  small  walled  city, 
w?\\%  towers,  buildings  of  white  marble  j  noble  convent  of  Domi- 
licans,  with  a  church  of  very  handsome  architecture,  and  another 
writh  a  beautiful  fagade  adorned  with  statues.  From  Morfeta  to 
3iovanasso  3  miles  by  the  sea-side,  close;  the  country  on  the  right 
ivell  planted  with  fruit-trees  and  corn  as  before;  the  road  very 
rugged  with  stones,  no  hedges  in  view,  but  macerias  or  stone  walls  ; 
ivithin  half-a-mile  of  Giovanasso  a  quarry  of  white  marble,  the 
;hore  all  the  way  rugged  with  rocks  of  white  marble ;  sea  rough. 
Siovanasso  walled  with  towers,  8cc.,  all  squared  stones  of  a  yellow- 
ish rather  than  of  white  marble ;  town  but  mean  within,  streets 
narrow,  poor  look,  said  to  contain  about  4,000  souls.  They  seem 
to  exceed  in  the  numbers  of  this  town  and  Biseglia.  From  Giova- 
nasso 3  miles  by  the  sea,  road  exceeding  rough,  country  as  before. 
Then  we  struck  oflF  from  the  sea  a  little  through  a  plain,  partly 
com,  partly  shrub,  green  and  various,  the  land  on  the  right  con- 
tinuing as  before ;  little  white  square  houses  in  the  vineyards  all 
along  this  day's  journey,  since  we  left  Trani.  Turks  taking  off 
whole  families  together:  Round  and  pyramidal  heaps  of  stones  in 
the  fields,  vines  and  corn  on  right  and  left,  fruit-trees  at  some 
distance  on  right ;  deep  sand  and  bad  road  before  we  entered  Bari. 
Delicious  vineyards,  gardens,  &c.,  powdered  with  little  white 
houses  about  Bari. 

22. 

Castle  of  Bari,  Bari  hath  inhabitants  1 8,000;  moles  old  and  new, 
port  shallow,  not  admitting  ships  of  any  burden ;  square  towers  at 
every  half  mile,  the  watchmen  advertise  each  other  by  smoke  from 
them,  this  round  the  coasts  of  the  kingdom ;  convents  of  Fran- 
ciscans and  Augustines.  In  the  former  a  father  played  on  the 
organ,  which  he  said  was  the  curiosity  most  visited  next  to 
St.  Nicolo,  and  it  was  indeed  very  fine ;  visited  likewise  other 
convents,  Capucins  and  Minims,  out  of  town,  pleasantly  situated, 
cool  cloisters,  orange  and  lemon  little  groves  in  them,  fine  views, 
delicious  living.  Jesuits  in  the  city,  one  of  them  upon  our  demand- 
ing to  see  their  library,  asked  whether  we  had  confessed,  and  sent 
us  first  to  see  St.  Nicolo.    The  adventure  succeeding,  the  fountain 


544  Joumat  of  a 

sanctified  by  the  bone  of  that  saint  lying  in  a  marble  case  on  the 
brink  of  it,  but  commonly  thought  to  flow  firom  the  bone  ;  Head  of 
the  Franciscans,  with  great  devotion,  showed  us   the  nail  that 
nailed  the  knocker  of  the  door  which  the  angel  struck  to  tell  Ac 
mother  of  St.  Francis  that  she  should  not  be  delivered  till  she  came 
down  to  the  stable,  after  the  manner  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.    Ban 
hath  not  above  9  noble  families,  merchants ;  streets  narrow  and 
diity,  buildings  not  beautiful.     In  the  evening  of  this  day  we  took 
a  walk  out  of  the  town  and  searched  for  tarantuli ;  they  showed 
us  certain  spiders  with  red  bodies  for  them,  or  certain  reddish 
spiders :   the  environs  extremely  pleasant.    N.B.  Inhabitants  of 
Terra  di  Bari  reckoned  somewhat  stupid.     N.B.  We  employed 
peasants  at  Canosa,  &c.,  to  find  us  tarantuli,  but  in  vain,  because 
the  hottest  season  not  then  come.    Returning  we  met  a  Frendi 
officer,  who  invited  us  to  dine,  and  called  on  us  next  day,  whid) 
we  spent  here  hearing  of  Tarantati  dance'. 


23. 

The  French  officer,  with  the  Abbate  Fanelli  and  another  Abbate, 
all  concur  in  the  belief  of  the  tarantula,  and  that  peremptorily, 
ladies  of  quality  as  well  as  mean  folks  bitten,  v.  g.  a  cousin  of  the 
Abbate  Fanelli  and  the  wife  to  the  Ricevitore  di  Malta.  Nothing 
given  to  the  tarantati,  they  paying  the  music  themselves.  The 
number  of  the  days  of  dancing  not  limited  to  three  j  different  in- 
struments of  music  for  different  patients  j  they  see  the  tarantula 
in  the  looking-glass,  which  directs  their  motions.  The  officer  saw 
30  tarantati  dance  together  at  Foggi.-  Tarantula  likewise  found, 
say  they,  in  the  Campagna  di  Roma.  Don  Alessio  Dolone  told 
me  the  tarantati  aflFected  those  colours  that  were  in  the  tarantula, 
that  he  knew  an  old  woman  turned  of  60,  servant  in  a  nunnery, 
that  danced,  &c.  He  would  not  believe  it  at  first,  but  was  then 
convinced.  As  to  the  time  of  dancing,  he  and  another  gentleman 
said  it  was  not  to  a  day  the  anniversary  of  their  being  bitten,  but 
it  may  be  some  days  sooner  or  later;  no  bite  discoverable  in  the 
patient.   The  tarantato  that  we  saw  dancing  in  a  circle  paced  round 

^   On  the  opposite  pages  of  the  Diary       Dissert aiio  cU  AnatOfM,  morsw  ei  eficdhus 
Berkeley  has  here  copied  a  very  long  passage       Tarantula, 
from   the  dissertation   of  Baglini,    entitled 


Tour  in  Italy. 


5451 


Bie  room,  and  sometimes  in  a  right  line  to  and  from  the  glassj 
staring  now  and  then  in  the  glass,  taking  a  naked  sword,  some- 
times by  the  hilt  and  dancing  in  a  circle,  the  point  to  the  specta- 
tors, and  often  very  near  particularly  to  mysclt",  who  sate  near  the 
glass,  sometimes  by  the  point,  sometimes  with  the  point  stuck  in 
bis  side,  but  not  hurting  him  j  sometimes  dancing  before  the  musi- 
cians and  making  odd  flourishes  with  the  sword,  all  which  seemed 
too  regularly  and  discreetly  managed  for  a  madman ;  his  cheeks 
hollow  and  eyes  somewhat  ghastly,  the  look  of  a  feverish  person ; 
took  notice  of  us  strangers ;  red  and  blue  silks  hung  on  cords  round 
the  room,  looking-^lass  on  a  table  at  one  end  of  the  room,  drawn 
sword  lay  by  it  (which  he  regularly  laid  down  after  using  it),  pots 
of  greens  adorned  with  ribbons  of  various  colours;  danced  about 
balf  an  hour  the  time  or  bout  we  saw  him,  had  danced  before 
crowd  of  spectators,  who  danced  many  of  them,  and  probably 
4  hours,  and  between  whiles  was  to  continue  dancing  till  night; 
paid  the  music;  we  gave  money  to  the  music;  the  man  bow[ed]  to 
us  as  he  came  in;  my  danger  from  the  sword;  he  did  not  seem  to 
regard  the  colours.  Tarantata  likewise  seen,  daughter  to  a  man  of 
note  and  substance  in  the  city ;  chamber  or  large  hall  adorned  as 
<he  other,  bating  the  sword  and  looking-giass ;  danced  or  pace; 
round  in  a  circle,  a  man  bearing  a  green  bough  decked  with  rib- 
bons of  gay  colours;  she  seemed  not  to  mind  the  bough,  colours,  or 
company,  looked  fixed  and  melancholy;  relations  and  friends  sate 
round  the  hall;  none  danced  but  the  tarantata.  Her  father  certainly 
persuaded  that  she  had  her  disorder  from  the  tarantula:  his  ac- 
count that  she  had  been  ill  4  years,  pined  away,  and  no  medi- 
cines could  do  good,  till  one  night,  upon  her  hearing  the  tune  of  the 
Tarantula  played  in  the  street,  she  jumped  out  of  bed  and  danced; 
Irom  that  time,  he  told  us,  he  knew  her  disorder.  He  assured  us 
that  for  J  months  before  we  saw  her  she  had  taken  no  nourish- 
ment except  some  small  trifle  which  she  almost  constantly  threw 
up  again,  and  that  the  next  day  he  expected  (according  to  what  he 
had  found  before)  that  she  would  be  able  to  eat  and  digest  well, 
which  was,  he  thought,  owing  to  her  dancing  at  that  time  of  the 
year.  That  this  very  morning  she  looked  like  death,  no  mark 
of  a  bite  on  her,  no  knowledge  when  or  how  she  came  to  be 
bitten.  Girl  seemed  about  15  or  16,  and  ruddy  look  while  we 
saw  her. 


4 


I 


54^  journal  of  a 

24. 

Set  out  from  Bari  at  7  in  the  morning,  the  sea  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  distant  on  left  (the  road  stony,  land  likewise^  loose  stone 
walls  for  hedges);  corn,  vines,  fruit  trees  as  before,  with  extremely 
delightful  small  white  houses.  N.  B.  The  gentry  of  Bari  dare  not 
lie  during  the  summer  in  their  villas,  for  fear  of  the  Turks. 
8  a  clock  we  had  an  enlarged  view  delivered  from  the  stone  en- 
closures on  the  roadside;  houses  now  few  or  none.  8^,  rugged 
ascent,  rocky  unequal  ground;  land  now  wavy  a  little,  hitherto 
from  Barletta  a  plain ;  great  stones  and  shrubs  on  the  right ;  in  a 
word,  a  large  open  tract  since  the  rugged  ascent,  with  little  com  and 
much  shrub.  9  +  25^,  close  by  the  sea;  rocky,  unequal,  great  stones^ 
shrubs  and  pasture  among  them,  a  few  oxen,  com  on  right,  not  a 
house  in  view  though  the  country  quite  open,  not  a  tree  but 
shrubs.  10,  the  country  again  fertile,  corns,  vines  and  fruit-trees 
in  abundance.  N.  B.  Vines  in  Apulia  unsupported ;  world  of  fig- 
trees  on  right,  com  on  left,  and  open  to  the  sea.  10  + i,  along 
the  shore,  no  strand  but  fiat  rock;  com  reaped  and  standing  in 
sheaves.  Strike  off  a  little  from  the  sea;  fig-trees  very  laige,  mul- 
berries several,  stone  walls,  next  the  sea  few  or  no  trees  in  the 
com ;  the  right  well  planted,  few  or  no  houses  (I  suppose)  for  fear 
of  the  Turks,  which  obligeth  families  to  live  in  towns ;  figs  predo- 
minant, though  all  the  same  trees  as  about  Bari.  Mola,  small  dty 
walled  round  a  castle ;  old  cathedral,  suburb  bigger  than  the  city 
within  the  walls ;  no  place  in  the  town  to  dress  or  eat  our  victuals 
in ;  a  merchant  of  the  town  gave  us  the  use  of  an  apartment  to  cat 
our  own  meat  in,  as  likewise  a  present  of  cherries.  Mola  hath  a 
great  and  considerable  trade ;  5,000  souls  in  Mola ;  strange  to  see 
beggars  live  in  houses  of  hewn  stone ;  3  or  4  handsome  cupolas. 
I  -f  40',  left  Mola ;  well  planted  fruitful  country  as  before,  a,  a 
stony,  rocky,  shrubby  tract,  af,  wood  of  large  olive-trees,  little 
com,  a  large  white  monastery  on  the  left  in  the  forest  of  olives. 
3  h.  40  m.,  got  out  of  the  olive-forest ;  cra^y  ascent,  xocky  way 
close  by  the  sea,  loose  stone  wall  on  the  right  and  rocks,  shrubs, 
olive-trees.  Pulignano  in  view;  bridge  over  a  valley  or  narrow 
glen  among  rocks ;  unequal  rocky  ground ;  another  bridge  over  a 
chasm  or  glen.  The  town  Pulignano  small,  inconsiderable,  walls 
and  towers  of  hewn  stone ;  passed  by  it,  leaving  it  on  the  left  at 
4+20;  rocky  barren  sea-coast,  but  on  the  right  fruit  trees,  a»ii, 


Tmtr  in  Italy.  547  I 

vines,  almonds  predominant ;  locust  trees  here,  and  between 
whiles  ever  since  Barletta.  4+40,  enter  a  grove  of  olives,  some 
pears,  &c  intern^Jied^  soil  twixt  red  and  yellow,  stony.  54-50, 
com  reaped,  the  olive  plantation  divided  into  squares  by  loose 
stone  walls,  serving  only  to  clear  the  soil  of  stones.  6  +  5,  out  of 
the  olive  grove  or  forest.  This  afternoon  we  had  a  ridge  of  low 
hills  parallel  to  our  road,  a  mile  off  on  right,  covered  with  trees 
for  the  most  part,  64-i,  Monopoti,  walled,  8,coo  inhabitants; 
6,000  died  of  the  plague  twenty-two  years  agone ;  steeple  having 
all  the  orders ;  palace  on  the  right  new  and  of  a  good  g'Xit,  were 
not  the  Doric  pilasters  ill  proportioned;  cathedral,  piazza  indiffer- 
ent, convents  nine,  nunneries  four;  trade  in  oil  and  almonds, 
Governor,  a  nobleman  of  Naples,  Don  Tito  Reco,  offered  his 
house;  being  refused,  recommended  us  to  the  Franciscan  convent 
without  the  walls ;  he  walked  us  round  the  town ;  the  friars'  treat- 
ment of  us;  the  Definitore's[?]  conversation;  their  retiring  tower 
and  ladder,  their  guns,  preparations.,  watch  against  the  Turk. 

25- 
Left  the  convent  at  6  +  30 ;  stony  mad,  stone  walls,  corn,  open. 
7,  even  road,  red  soil,  com,  olives.  7  4- 10,  forest  of  olives ;  lose  our 
way  in  this  forest'.  IQ  +  5,  out  of  the  olive  forest  into  a  corn  field; 
pasture;  the  sea  about  a  mile  distant;  much  wild  thyme;  pasture, 
olives,  corn,  shrub,  stones,  thyme.  10 +  i,  the  same  olive  forest 
^ain.  1 1  +  i,  shrubs,  corn-fields,  pasture.  12  4-4,  serpents, 
copse  or  thicket,  pasture,  trees,  olives,  unequal  cra^y  ground, 
I  +  10,  forest  ai  olives;  dined  under  an  olive-tree.  34-3,  out  of 
the  forest  into  a  thicket,  wild  thyme  among  the  shrubs  in  abund- 
ance; corn,  thicket  of  shrubs  again;  a  few  cows  and  oxen  here,  as 
through  the  whole  kingdom,  whitish ;  olive-trees  and  shrubs  mixed, 
fieUJs  of  pasture  and  com  among  the  shrubs.  7,  the  hills  on  fjur 
tight  all  this  day  and  half  of  yesterday  end ;  open  country,  with 
shrubs,  &c.;  hollow  stony  road  about  a  mile  before  Brundisium, 
where  we  arrived  at  94- J.  Country  round  Brundisi  well  planted 
with  corn  and  vines,  but  open,  having  few  trees,  and  those  fruit- 
trees.  Apptan  Way  near  the  town,  which  is  ill  built,  straggling, 
poor. 

*  UqnActian  ronocrly  at  Gmtii  [Egna-      excetding  iff  aU  liiii  momiDE. 
M  Oiy-l  u  now  M  N»pln.     Thij  left  on  ■  Itilii  Onitia  lymphii.* 

4MU  felt  bind  for  fiar  of  the  Totlu,  wbicb  [Hm.  1.  S«l.  5.  Set  Cnnier'i  ttaij.  vol,  II. 
ako  nnud  the  lou  of  the  roid :   country       p.  J99,  fai  forlher  references.] 


4 


4 


548 


y<mrnal  of  a 


26. 

Two  pillars  of  white  marble,  the  one  entire,  Corinthian  and 
urn  on  the  top,  the  other  only  pedestal  and  piece  of  the  top,  which 
fell  and  remained  on  the  pedestal  a.  d.  1528,  without  any  storm 
or  earthquake,  the  intermediate  parts  falling  out  ^  this  looked  on 
as  a  presage  of  the  ruin  of  the  city,  which  ensued  in  the  war 
between  the  League  and  Charles  V.  The  two  pillars  the  ancient 
arms  of  Brundisium,  as  having  been  built  by  the  son  of  Heradcs, 
who  erected  two  pillars  at  the  Straits.  The  two  pillars  had  figures 
of  puttini,  &c.  above  the  foliage  ®. 

N.  B.  The  following  inscription  on  one  of  the  pedestals : — 

lii    ILLVSTRISPIVSACTIB— ATO  :  REFVLG 
PTOSPATHALVPVSVRBEMHANCSTRVXITADIM — 

QVAMIMPERAT0RESMAGNIFICIQ:BENIG desunt  reliqu«. 

Several  fragments  of  ancient  pillars  about  the  town,  churches 
nothing  extraordinary;  Capucins,  fratres  minores  conventuales 
inter  quos  Monsignor  Griego;  walk  round  the  walls,  of  the  old  ones 
some  ancient  ruins ;  a  bishopric.  I  judge  this,  in  proportion  to  the 
other  towns,  to  contain  about  4,000  or  5,000  souls ;  as  to  the  port 
and  town,  it  is,  as  Strabo  saith,  a  stag's  head  and  antlers.  We 


*  Brundisium.     N.  B.  Orange  gardens  in 

groves  in  the  suburbs  where  we  entered 
rundisiuni.  Bad  air  from  choaking  the 
port,  and  few  inhabitants.  Giro  of  the  old 
city  7  miles,  whereof  remains  now  much 
less,  with  vacant  streets  and  piazzas. 

Fidelitas  Bruudusina  the  motto  to  their 
arms,  i.  e.  the  pillars.  Two  forts,  the 
newest  built  by  Philip,  the  second  built  on 
a  tongue  of  land  a  miles  from  the  town, 
reckoned  the  strongest  in  the  kingdom. 

ABP.  Among  reliques  in  the  dome 
the  tongue  of  St.  Jerome  and  la  heads  of 
the  1 1 00  virgins  attending  or  accompany- 
ing St.  Ursula.  The  magistrates  (i.  e.  sjm- 
dic,  maestro-giurato,  treasurer,  &c.)  by  a 
child  drawing  balls  of  divers  colours  at 
hazard  in  the  town-house  in  the  presence 
of  the  governor  and  judge  every  day  of  the 
Vergine  assunta. 

The  island  below  the  port  of  Brundu- 
sium  mentioned  by  Caesar,  Bell.  Civ.  lib.  3  ; 
first  Libo  and  after  that  another  of  Pom- 
pey's  admirals  having  possessed  themselves 
of  it  to  blockade  the  part  of  Csesar's  army 
which  remained  in  Brundusium. 

Brundisium  the  first  town  we  come  to 
in   Terra    d'Otianto,   and   Castelnetta   the 


last  in  our  return.  Taranto  and  Brindisi, 
with  all  the  towns  below  them,  are  in  the 
province,  which  was  formerly  Mesupia 
Salentina  or  Calabria.  Air  in  all  parts  good, 
especially  about  Lecce :  produce  corn,  wine, 
and  oil  in  plenty ;  also  sheep  and  strong 
mules  in  plenty,  which  last  are  modi 
esteemed:  minerals  also,  as  saltpetre,  bdo 
Armeno,  Terra  Lemnia,  and  excdUent  nit  for 
whiteness  at  Taranto.  3  abps.  and  10  bps.; 
the  former  Brindisi,  Otranto,  and  Taranta 

Strabo  (lib.  6)  describes  the  town  and 
ports  as  a  stag's  head  and  antlers,  and  as 
more  convenient  even  than  that  of  TareDtun, 
which  bad  itUtr  quadam  vadosa.  No  vada 
there,  but  many  in  Brundisium.  This  the 
common  passage  into  Greece,  the  opposite 
city  of  lUjrricum,  Dyrrachium,  receiving  OQ 
the  other  side. 

*  Hanc  latus  Augostum,*  Sec 

Lucan  1. 5. 

*  Gravis  auctumnus  in  Apulia  drcomqiie 
Brundisium  ex  saluberrimis  Galliae  et  Hispt> 
niaeque  regionibns  omnem  exercitum  vale- 
tudine  tenuverat,'  Caesar  (Bell.  Civ.  lib.  3), 
speaking  of  his  army  when  he  followed 
Pompey. 


Tour  in  Italy 

wralked  round  the  town  and  found  some  pieces  of  the  walls  of  the 
ancient  town,  which  was  much  bigger  than  the  modern.  As  to  the 
.port,  N.  B,  Five  islands  and  the  island  with  tlie  castle  or 
fortress,  then  a  port  or  bay,  and  within  that  another  port  or  bay, 
then  the  stag's  front,  then  the  horns  on  either  side  embracing; 
a  bishopric.  N.B.  An  English  seaman  here  demands  our  charity; 
his  working  and  earning  twelve  pence  a  day,  his  boxing  with  the 
townsfolks,  bis  pretending  to  go  to  Naples,  his  shipwreck  and 
companions  going  through  the  country'".  Left  Bnndisi  at  4  +  6; 
a  bridge  over  a  narrow  sinus  of  the  sea  (i.  e.  one  of  the  horns), 
olives  and  corn,  vines,  com,  and  fig-trees,  pasture  and  yellow 
flowers,  corn,  beans,  oats,  low  shrub  left,  pasture  right,  coarse 
pasture;  all  this  land  open,  sandy  barren  soil,  here  and  there  corn, 
low  shrubs  but  no  trees,  a  large  extended  plain,  wild  artichokes, 
long  shrub,  com,  shrub,  corn.  7  + J,  olive  grove  or  forest,  the 
trees  of  this  and  the  other  olive  forests  large  and  of  great  age; 
com  on  left  and  vines  on  right,  more  little  farm  houses  or  villas 
than  usual,  figs,  pere  muscanellEC,  vines;  a  village;  Indian  aloes 
common  here  and  elsewhere;  vines  right,  corn  left,  olive  grove, 
corn,  open  country,  spacious  corn  field  right,  olive  plantation 
left;  ample  stubble  right  and  left;  olive  grove,  vines,  figs,  pears, 
apples,  &c,  left ;  vineyard  right  and  left;  wine  presses,  olive  grove. 
8+i,  seeming  all  the  way  olive  grove  and  large  vineyards  and 
I  intermixed.  Long  tract  of  open  country,  corn,  pasture,  fruit- 
trees.  Leave  at  midnight;  obliged  to  wait  some  time  fiir  the  open- 
ing of  the  gates. 

27. 
Function  on  Corpus  Christi  day  in  Lecce;  standards,  images, 
streamers,  host,  rich  habits  of  priests,  ecclesiastics  of  all  sorts, 
confraternities,  militia,  guns,  squibs,  crackers,  new  clothes. 
Piazza,  in  it  an  ancient  Corinthian  pillar  sustaining  the  bronze 
statue  of  St.  Orontius ;  protexi  et  protegam  ;  marble  statue  on 
horseback  of  Charles  the  Fifth,  another  on  horseback  of  a  King 
of  Spain  on  the  top  of  a  fountain  adorned  with  many  bad  statues; 
Jesuits'  college  most  magnificent;  fine  buildings  of  hewn  stone, 
ornamented  windows,  pilasters,  &c. ;  targe  streets,  divers  piazzas. 


Mlfaon 


•   At   N»p1e»  infon 


550  youmal  of  a 

fa9ades  of  churches,  &c.  ^  inhabitants  16,000 ;  eight  miles  firom  the 
sea ;  oil  only  commodity ;  convents  fourteen,  nunneries  sixteen ; 
streets  open,  pleasant,  but  crooked ;  several  open  places ;  situate  in 
a  most  spacious  plain  ^  gusto  in  the  meanest  houses  ;  nowhere  so 
common  ornamented  doors  and  windows  \  balconies,  pillars,  balu^ 
trades,  all  of  stone,  the  stone  easily  wrought;  incredible  profusion 
of  ornaments  in  the  ^ades  of  churches,  convents,  &c.,  pillars  or 
pilasters  (mostly  Composite  or  Corinthian),  festoons,  flowerpots, 
puttini,  and  other  animals  crowded  in  the  diapiters  above  the 
foliages,  double  friezes  filled  with  relievo,  i.  e.  beside  the  common 
frieze  another  between  the  chapiters.  Took  particular  notice  of 
the  Jesuits'  church,  that  of  the  Dominicans,  nunnery  of  St.  Teresa, 
convent  of  the  Benedictines^  of  the  Carmelites,  nunnery  of 
St.  Chiara.  These  and  many  more  deserved  attention ;  most  of 
them  crowded  with  ornaments,  in  themselves  neat  but  injudi- 
ciously huddled  together.  The  fayades  of  the  church  and  convent  of 
the  Jesuits  noble  and  unaffected,  the  air  and  appearance  wonder- 
fully grand ;  two  rows  of  pilasters,  first  Composite,  second  or  upper 
Ionic,  with  mezzoninos  above  the  second  row  of  windows;  win- 
dows in  front  twenty-six,  and  two  between  each  pair  of  pilasters 
in  front;  orange-trees  in  the  squares  within  the  cloisters,  long 
corridors  before  the  chambers,  which  had  each  a  door  of  stone 
ornamented  like  that  of  a  palace.  Some  Greek  MSS.,  as  of  Lyco- 
phron,  Stephanus  de  Urbibus,  and  Homer  in  their  library,  but 
those  dispersed,  and  no  index  that  I  could  see.  Twenty-five  win- 
dows in  front  beside  the  church.  Fa9ade  of  the  Benedictines* 
convent  and  church  wonderfully  crowded  with  ornaments,  as 
likewise  the  altars  generally  adorned  with  twisted  pillars  flourished 
all  over,  and  loaden  with  little  puttini,  birds,  and  the  like  in 
clusters  on  the  chapiters  and  between  the  wreaths  along  the  ftists 
of  the  columns.  Nothing  in  my  travels  more  amazing  than  the 
infinite  profusion  of  alto-relievo,  and  that  so  well  done :  there 
is  not  surely  the  like  rich  architecture  in  the  world.  The  square 
of  the  Benedictines  is  the  finest  I  ever  saw ;  the  cloisters  have 
a  flat  roof  and  balustrade  supported  by  double  beautiful  pillars 
with  rich  capitals,  a  fountain  also  and  statues  in  the  middle ;  the 
corridors  above  stairs  are  long,  lofly,  and  wide  in  proportion; 
prospect  into  the  town  and  country  very  pleasant ;  each  chamber 
of  the  fathers  hath  a  noble  balcony  of  stone,  Corinthian  and 


Tour  in  Italy. 


551  J 


Composite  pilasters  in  front;  the  vast  number  of  locusts;  in  the 
piazza  the  pillar  from  Bnindisium  supporting  a  statue  In  bronze 
of  St.  Orontius,  Cathedral  handsome,  much  gilding  and  indifferent 
painting,  modem  architecture,  noble  steeples;  hospital  rustic  at 
bottom,  double  pilasters,  Doric  below,  Ionic  above,  simple;  semi- 
nary near  the  cathedral,  rich  fajade,  plain,  neat,  handsome  square 
within ;  bishop's  palace,  line  ascent  by  double  stairs  and  balus> 
trades,  open  arched  portico.  Fagadc  of  the  Jesuits'  church  orna- 
mented but  not  redundantly,  as  noble  as  I  remember  any  where  to 
have  seen,  very  fine ;  as  likewise  that  of  the  Nosocomium.  St,  Spi- 
ritus  very  neat  and  unembarrassed,  in  which  Corinthian  pilasters 
with  festoons  between.  Houses  generally  but  two  stories,  but  noble 
air  and  well  proportioned  in  height  to  the  breadth  of  the  streets ; 
several  fine  gates  nobly  adorned;  interdetto;  people  civil  and 
poUte,  and,  so  far  as  we  had  dealings,  honest  and  reasonable; 
^•ariety  in  the  supporters  of  their  balustrades ;  bold  flights  of  archi- 
tecture, as  in  the  facade  of  the  church  of  St.  Mattca,  a  nunnery ; 
garlands  and  coronets  often  round  their  pillars  and  pilasters. 
Church  of  the  Carmelites  very  good,  especially  within;  now  build- 
ing out  of  their  own  stock,  which  is  only  2000  ducats  per  annum, 
and  to  maintain  twenty-six  persons ;  in  the  front  a  little  diamond 
work,  which  they  are  sometimes  guilty  of.  Dominicans,  a  Greek 
cross ;  Carmelites,  whimsical  unequal  figure ;  others  oval,  &c. ;  no 
remains  of  antiquity.  Lecce  seems  as  large  as  Florence  in  extent, 
but  houses  lower;  not  a  spout  or  supporter  to  the  balustrade  or 
balcony,  but  wrought  in  the  grotesque  figure  of  some  animal,  or 
otherwise  carved;  horses,  men,  griffins,  bears,  &c.  supporting  the 
balcony  of  the  Benedictines*  church,  with  a  round  window  some- 
what Gothic ;  stone  handsome  and  well  coloured.  In  no  part 
of  Italy  such  a  general  gusto  of  architecture.  Environs  well  in- 
habited ;  gates  Corinthian  and  Composite ;  Jesuits'  convent  vast 
building  for  fourteen  fathers;  no  river;  their  gusto  too  rich  and 
luxuriant,  occasioned  without  doubt  by  the  facility  of  working 
their  stone ;  they  seem  to  shew  some  remains  of  the  spirit  and 
elegant  genius  of  the  Greeks  [who]  formerly  inhabited  these  parts. 

28. 
8+f,  set  out  from  Lecce;  com,  sheep,  pasture,  olives,  olive- 
grove.     10  +  35,  quit  the  grove;  corn,  sheep,  pasture ;  fine  view  to 
the  left  of  a  country  well  inhabited ;  white  houses,  extended  fields, 


4 


4 


552  yournal  of  a 

rows  of  trees,  groves,  scattered  trees,  the  whole  a  wide  plain. 
1 1  +  lo,  corn,  wide  unenclosed  plain,  few  trees^  reddish  soil,  not 
very  rich  and  somewhat  sandy.  11  +  25,  passed  through  Gua- 
gniano,  a  considerable  village  and  well  built;  stony  road,  com, 
vines,  fig-trees,  stone  walls  for  hedges,  open  stony  ground,  burnt 
grass,  as  indeed  everywhere ;  sheep  a  small  flock ;  large  vineyards 
right  and  left;  walnuts;  spacious  corn-fields  on  left,  behind  them 
trees^  and  behind  the  trees  a  considerable  town ;  com  right  and 
left;  beans.  12 -I- 5,  olive  grove,  corn  and  vines  and  walnuts  and 
almonds  mixed  with  the  olive-trees;  got  out  of  the  grove  at 
12+40;  olives  and  vines  to  the  left,  open  country,  com  and 
scattered  trees  on  the  right ;  fiax,  corn  and  olives  right  and  left. 
12-1-50,  a  wood,  oaks  and  other  forest  trees  thin,  much  under- 
wood, oxen  and  cows,  large  birds  like  cranes.  1  +  20^  quit  the 
wood  for  a  large  plain  covered  with  divers  sorts  of  pretty  green 
shrub  and  thyme,  which  we  have  often  met  with,  and  supply  the 
place  of  heath  and  fern ;  stubble,  goats  and  sheep  right ;  corn  rig^t, 
shrub  left,  the  country  wide  and  flat ;  scattered  trees  and  groves  in 
view,  but  no  enclosures ;  stony  field  on  the  right,  open  pasture, 
sheep  and  oxen,  com,  oxen ;  air  perfumed  with  speermint  growing 
over  an  ample  space  right  and  left.  2,  Bracciano,  a  poor  village, 
where  we  dined  under  a  fig-tree  by  the  side  of  a  well  in  a  poor 
man's  garden,  who  helped  us  to  a  salad,  &c. ;  this  village  belongs 
to  the  Archbishop  of  Brindisi.  4,  we  set  out  from  Bracciano. 
Large  green  plain,  in  which  com;  shrub,  corn,  pasture,  cattle, 
goats,  sheep;  small  ascent;  shrub,  wide  stony  field;  shrub  and 
stony  ground ;  long  tract  of  corn,  interrupted  in  one  place  with 
a  little  flax,  in  another  with  a  few  olives ;  rocky  ground  and  corn 
on  the  left;  road  rocky;  corn  right  and  left;  parched  pasture, 
amidst  wall  of  huge  uncemented  stones  grown  rough  with  age,  on 
the  right.  7  +  5,  Casal-nuovo;  Franciscan  convent;  treatment 
there ;  friar  at  midnight  knocking  at  the  door  and  singing ;  Thomas 
and  Scotus ;  conversation  with  the  guardian  in  Latin,  and  another 
friar.  Franciscans,  except  Capuchins,  not  bitten  or  poisoned  by 
the  tarantula,  those  animals  having  been  cursed  by  St.  Francis ;  the 
habit  worn  twenty-four  hours  cures  the  tarantato. 

29. 

Walk  out  in  the  morning ;  meet  a  physician  gathering  simples 
in  a  field  near  the  town.     He  judged  the  distemper  of  the  taran- 


Tour  in  Italy. 


553 


:i  to  be  often  feigned  for  lewd  purposes,  &c.,  as  the  spiritati. 
!Tie  wonderful  fountain,  which,  bein^  in  a  great  subterraneous 
rotto,  runs  into  a  cistern  without  ever  filling  it ".  Great  remains 
double  walls  of  huge  stones,  and  fosse  of  the  ancient  Mandu- 
Lim.  The  odd  small  old  building,  consisting  of  a  double  rotunda 
id  a  lai^e  niche  at  the  upper  end  and  some  walls,  as  of  a  vestibule 
ryond  it,  said  by  the  inhabitants  to  have  been  a  temple  of  the 
in,  afterwards  turned  into  a  church;  some  old  pictures  of  saints 
1  the  wall;  seems  built  in  the  early  times  of  Christianity, 
plany,  if  not  most,  of  the  great  stones  in  the  old  walls  seemed 
congregation  of  oyster  and  scollop  shells  entire,  cemented 
lather  by  hard  plaster.  Convents  six,  and  one  nunnery;  8000 
iouls,  though  1  think  over  reckoned,  belonging  to  the  Prince  of 
'rancavilla.  Corn,  flax,  and  cotton  in  great  plenty  about  Casal- 
Biovo.  7  +  50,  left  Casal-nuovo ;  corn,  olives  left ;  few  figs  and 
ralnuts  right;  pasture  amidst  quarries;  roads  very  rocky;  low 
bnibs  and  thyme;  land  open  and  poor;  corn  and  figs  for  half 
mile  before  we  come  to  Oria,  10  +  5,  Oria,  situate  on  a  rocky 
till ;  chain  of  small  hills  about  two  miles  long,  and  Oria  on  one 
trf  them,  A  bishopric;  fragments  of  old  pillars  in  the  streets; 
pXHtly  prospect  to  Gravina,  Brundisium,  Lecce,  &c.  Inscription 
s  follows  on  a  pedestal  lying  in  the  churchyard  of  the  cathedral ; — 

I.   M.   COCCEIA   M.   F.  PRIMA  V.  A.  XX M.  COCCErUS   FILI^ 

'lENTISSIM.'E.  Plain  of  vast  extent  round  on  all  sides;  part  of 
in  old  Roman  wall  near  the  castle ;  belongs  to  the  Prince  of 
'rancavilla.  N,  B.  Several  caves  or  grottoes  in  a  rocky  hill  near 
Jria.  Set  out  from  Uria  at  i,  after  having  dined  wretchedly  in 
stable,  that  being  the  only  place  we  could  find  in  the  town; 
;ony  ground,  corn  and  olives  in  abundance,  figs,  vines ;  long  tracts 
)f  corn  and  long  tracts  of  vines  alternately,  olives  and  fig  trees; 
Ijtches  on  each  side  the  road,  and  bramble  hedges.  2+4)  grove 
if  olives,  ground  gently  wavy,  3 +40  m.,  quit  the  grove  j  large 
(pen  tract  of  ground,  stony  field,  spacious  field  of  oats,  stony  road, 
ihrubs  right,  vineyard  left.  Francavilla  about  1  miles  on  our  right ; 
Mnes  right  and  left;  vineyard  left,  field  of  beans  right;  ridge  of 
(ruitful  hills  about  two  miles  off  on  right;  com,  beans.  [Rudix 
fl»e  country  of  Ennius,  placed  by  Cluverius  between   Uria  and 


"  [Berkeley  htie   c 

«n.«   Plin 

1   Lib.   ii 

103,  of  pin  ofwhi 

ic    foumim   i<    an 

h  the  dest 
b-irfged 

Tipiion  0 
aniliiion 

He  »dd>.  ■  N.B.  The  Phytic 
fnr  Pimy.'l 


Mk  Liry 


554 


yournal  of  a 


Tarentum  midway  ;  but  wc  saw  no  ruins  of  that  town.  At  Leat 
they  placed  Rudiac  within  two  or  three  miles  of  that  city.  M.]  This 
afternoon  single  houses  up  and  down  the  country  thicker  thjn 
usual ;  few  scattered  trees  throu^out;  pjstiire  and  stubble;  am. 
oxen,  sheep,  corn,  and  ciceri;  stony  field,  ploughed  land,  corn, 
shrub  on  left,  corn  right;  beans,  com;  stones  and  shrub  ri^l; 
ample  prospect  of  open  country,  pasture,  ploughed  land,  Ac, 
bounded  by  gentle  hills  or  risings.  Get  out  of  the  spacious  stonj 
shrub;  easy  descent;  olive  grove,  corn,  garden  stuff.  Gulf  oi 
Taranto  in  view;  large  vineyard  right  and  left;  parched  rough 
pHsturc.  S.  Giorgio,  a  considerable  town  on  our  left ;  corn,  open. 
Pass  close  by  a  village  on  our  left;  pasture  and  com;  rough, 
stony,  shrubby  ground ;  flock  of  sheep,  almost  all  black,  the  com- 
mon colour  in  these  parts;  large  shrubby,  stony  tract,  and  can 
&c.  a  small  distance  to  the  right ;  slew  a  black  serpent,  4  feet 
long;  ploughed  land,  corn,  shrub. 

Come  to  the  side  of  an  arm  of  the  Gulf  on  our  right ;  great 
space  of  corn;  olives  at  a  distance  to  the  left,  on  a  gentle  bill; 
the  ridge  of  low  mountains  still  continued  on  the  other  side  of 
the  sea;  tufts  of  ciceri,  rushes,  olives,  com,  cows  and  own: 
ascent;  shrub;  space  of  corn;  com,  olives,  vines,  the  olive  tree* 
large  and  many  among  the  corn;  vines  and  fig  trees;  olive^ 
vines,  and  gardens;  convents,  houses;  olives,  pasture;  corn  left^ 
convents  and  gardens  right  and  left.  Arrived  at  the  Zoccolaiti 
Scalsi  [Barefwtd  Friart  ?]  by  8  +  i-   8  +  3,  open  corn  and  TarenUm. 

30. 
Taranto,  trade  in  corn  and  oil ;  inhabitants  1 5,000 ;  no  taste  tit 
the  buildings;  streets  narrow  and  extreme  dirty.  ArchbishcfTs 
palace  noble;  spacious  apartments;  loggie  overlooking  the  whole 
Gulf  of  Tarentum  ;  the  serenity  and  noble  prospect  of  that  Gulf- 
Handsome  seminary  near  the  Archbishop's  palace;  logic,  phii> 
Sophy,  theology,  humanity  taught  in  the  same;  youth,  seculir 
and  ecclesiastic,  are  taught,  dieted,  and  lodged  for  30  ducats  per 
annum  each.  N.  B.  These  seminaries  common.  Fine  inlaid 
chapel  in  the  cathedral,  which  hath  likewise  ancient  pillars  in 
the  great  aisle,  with  rude  chapiters ;  various  coloured  marbles  in 
the  inlayings,  found  in  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  city.  Nothing 
more  b^utiftil  than  this  oval  inlaid  chapel,  painted  well  cnougli 
above  with  the  life  of  St.  Cataldus,  an  Irishman,  formerly  Arch- 


Touy  in  Ilaly. 

lishop  of  Tarentum,  now  patron  of  ihe  cily;  his  body  behind 
the  great  altar.  [The  skull  of  St.  Cataldo  in  the  silver  head  (which 
tticy  say  was  finished  by  an  angel)  of  his  silver  statue.  His  tongue 
^so  uncorruptcd,  M.]  A  Gothic  building  shown  for  Pilate's  house. 
Several  noble  families  settled  in  Taranto.  Tarantato  that  we 
dance  here,  no  looldng-glass  or  sword  j  stamped,  screeched, 
seemed  to  smile  sometimes;  danced  in  a  circle  like  the  others. 
,Thc  Consul,  &c.  inform  us  that  all  spiders  except  the  long-le^ed 
ones  bite,  ciusing  the  usual  symptoms,  though  not  so  violent 
the  large  ones  in  the  country.  He  tells  me  the  tarantula 
causes  pain  and  blackness  to  a  great  square  round  the  bite;  thinks 
teerc  can  be  no  deceit,  the  dancing  is  so  laborious ;  tells  me  they 
are  feverish  mad,  and  sometimes  after  dancing  throw  themselves 
into  the  sea,  and  would  drown  if  not  prevented ;  that  in  case  the 
tarantula  be  killed  on  biting,  the  patient  dances  but  one  year; 
otherwise  to  the  death  of  the  tarantula.  Ruins  of  old  walls  on 
the  sea-shore,  half  a  mile  from  modern  Tarentum'*.  Ruins  of  an 
amphitheatre  (different  from  what  we  had  elsewhere  seen,  as 
being  without  the  pass^es)  ^  of  a  miie  from  the  town,  between 
the  foresaid  ruins  and  the  town.  A  mile  from  town  the  same 
way  an  old  church  and  the  grotto  or  subterraneous  passage  from 
the  little  sea  to  the  gulf,  built  of  huge  stones.  All  spiders,  except 
those  with  very  long  legs  and  those  in  houses,  white  and  black. 
The  taking  of  the  tarantula  out  with  a  straw  nothing  singular, 
and  done  without  whistling  or  spittle.  Tarentum  now  in  an 
island,  with  two  bridges.  Two  old  columns  of  Verde  antico  in 
the  chapel.  The  ruins  of  the  amphitheatre  defaced  by  the  friars, 
who  have  a  convent  there,  and  a  garden  in  the  amphitheatre. 
Medals  and  intaglios  found  here;  gold  and  silver,  wrought  and 
unwrought,  found  along  the  side  of  the  little  sea,  which  makes 
them  believe  the  street  of  the  goldsmiths'  shops  was  there.  Corn, 
wine,  oil,  fruits  in  abundance  in  the  territory  of  Tarentum. 
Consul  says  the  scorpion  likewise  causes  dancing 'i. 


"  [V.D.rdf  ill  hb  Irinmrio  Tlalio  ays. 

Ihrough.  chieflj'  by  ihi  hole,  of  ihe  [bneei?], 

•  The  harbom  being  choked  un  oqIj  receive 

and  lending  in  i  moitl  iipour  ™ell»  ihe 

nD>D  tarfa-T 

rom  to  ^3  increaie  in  ihe  lOO;  to  fnrait 

"  [Berkdejptet  it,  i  brief  form  the  infor- 

it.  lotling  by  ihi.  moinute  ihej  change  it 

traj  Bdaiei  from  one  roogirinelonnoUiM. 

wtiicli  ire  now  to    b«  fouod    in  Crimer't 

The   expciimenl  M»Uy  niule  by  weighing 

/«a^.     He  lit-  iddi  thi>  note  0—'  Inhabit- 

tqnti  bulk,  of  tbdn  Bod  the  pnunt,-  com 

aim  of  Tinnto  pbce  their  migaiiiiei  of 

jo.(  broughl  in.     Thi.  .ffimied  by  the  Con- 

con    eat  Ibe  <e>,  which    inunoMet  iUelf 

fe«or  10  the  Qerm.™.- 

556  Journai  of  a 


31. 
84-i,  set  out  from  Tarentum.  The  ancient  Tarentum  on  a 
tongue  of  land  between  two  seas,  same  way  by  which  we  came 
towards  Fagiano,  a  town  of  the  Albanian  colony.  Left  our  last 
road  on  the  left;  olives  and  com,  and  open  com  fields;  wide 
green  wavy  pasture,  large  flock  of  black  sheep.  No  mountains 
in  the  heel  of  Italy.  Coarse  pasture,  open  com ;  all  the  way  com 
and  pasture ;  open  country ;  hills  at  our  left  distant^  sea  near  our 
right.  N.  B.  Mistake  in  the  maps  making  tlie  heel  mountainous, 
there  being  nothing  more  than  gentle  hills  or  risings,  and  few  of 
them.  Dined  witli  an  Albanian  priest  at  Fagiano,  who  treated 
us  very  civilly ;  he  could  give  no  account  of  the  first  settling  that 
colony.  The  men,  he  said,  had  been  formerly  employed  in  some 
wars  of  Italy,  and  during  their  absence  the  women  taking  no  care 
of  their  books,  they  were  destroyed ;  so  their  MSS.  histories  and 
records  perished.  1500  souls  in  Fagiano,  all  Albaneses,  and 
speaking  the  Albanian  tongue ;  their  children  learn  the  Italian  at 
school.  Fagiano  a  clean^  irregular  town ;  instead  of  our  thatched 
cabins,  small,  square,  flat-roofed,  white  houses.  The  priest  told 
us  the  arm,  e.  g.  being  bitten  by  the  tarantula  swelled,  confirmed, 
as  indeed  everybody,  that  common  notion  of  the  tarantula's  death 
curing  the  bite.  His  house  very  neat.  Everywhere  great  respect 
for  a  knowledge  of  the  English,  owing  to  our  commerce,  fleets,  and 
armies.  Ancient  Greek  chapel  painted  with  barbarous  figures, 
and  inscriptions  much  defaced,  in  characters  partly  Greek  and 
partly  barbarous.  This  priest  never  drank  wine  except  at  the 
sacrament,  having  an  antipathy  to  it.  Beside  Fagiano,  La  Rocca, 
S.  Giorgio,  and  3  or  4  more  towns  mostly  Albanese,  but  Fagiano 
entirely.  Bed  of  cuorioli,  or  broken  shells  of  periwinkles,  &C., 
along  the  shore  of  the  small  sea,  used  formerly,  as  they  say,  in 
dying  purple;  wool  in  the  fish  called  baricella,  of  which  stockings, 
waistcoats,  &c.,  like  silk,  but  stronger.  A  little  fish  in  the  shell 
with  the  baricella,  which,  standing  on  the  top  of  the  open  broad 
shell  (the  lower  end  being  shaped  like  a  horn,  and  always  stuck 
in  the  ground),  sees  the  approaching  porpoise,  and  retreating  into 
the  baricella,  gives  him  notice  to  shut  his  shell.  Three  or  four 
drops  of  oil  spilt  on  the  sea  enables  fishers  to  see  the  bottom. 
Abbate  Calvo  said  Count  Thaun  had  given  40,000  pistoles  for 


Tour  in  Italy. 

le  continuation  of  his  government  the  last  year;  a  grain  per 
rotolo  tax  on  the  beef;  the  butchers  discount  with  the  town- 
collectors  by  little  bits  of  stamped  lead  given  by  the  free  persons 
ibr  the  tax  of  each  rotolo.  Two  islands  in  the  gulf  that  break 
■the  winds  and  make  the  harbour  more  secure.     Taranto  walled ; 

strong  castle  i  soldiers  128. 

June  I. 
I  +  J,  set  out  from  Taranto  over  the  other  bridge.  Corn,  large 
grove  of  olives;  corn  mixed  with  olives,  being  great  old  trees, 
as  indeed  in  every  other  grove;  corn  fields;  corn,  apples,  olives, 
pomegranates,  and  other  fruit  trees;  shrub  and  corn  fields;  a 
forest  i  of  a  mile  distant  left;  ridge  of  low  fruitful  hills  or  risings 
all  the  way  about  a  mile  and  a  half  distant  on  our  right.  Town 
Matsafra  on  the  side  of  the  said  ridge.  The  country  we  pass 
through  plain,  and  though  fruitful,  hardly  any  houses  to  be  seen. 
Dried  pastures,  unequal  ground,  being  descent;  a  small  vale,  in 
which  tufts  of  rushes,  olives,  figs,  &c.;  ascent.  A  small  village 
DO  left;  corn  fields  planted  with  young  olives  in  rows;  long  vine- 
yards right  and  left,  with  figs  and  other  fruit  trees ;  poor  pasture ; 
corn  right,  olives  left ;  a  great  open  country,  not  a  perfect  level, 
but  nearly  so,  consisting  of  pasture,  corn,  and  a  vast  large  shrub 
of  wild  thyme,  &c.  5  +  55',  ground  wavy  ;  some  corn  amidst  the 
shrub;  ru^ed  stony  ground,  hills  and  vales  mostly  covered  with 
shrub.  7  +  3a',  out  of  the  shnib ;  corn  fields,  grove  of  olives ;  ine- 
quality of  hill  and  dale;  ground  rocky;  still  olives, corn  among  the 
olives;  quarry  of  white  stone  on  the  right,  wide  corn  field  on  left; 
road  hewn  through  the  rock ;  corn  and  olives  on  both  sides ;  stone 
walls,  beans,  8^.lo',  Castalneta;  the  people  drawn  up  in  the 
street  in  lioes  to  see  us ;  the  number  of  clergy  or  abbales  besides 
the  regulars;  these  loiter  in  the  streets,  particularly  at  Mandu- 
rium  the  Theatines.  Letter  to  the  Dominicans  from  a  clei^man 
at  Taranto;  their  inhospitality  in  refusing  to  lodge  us;  we  are 
received  at  the  Capucins;  sit  round  their  fire  in  the  kitchen. 
Castalneta  belongs  to  the  Prince  of  Acquaviva,  of  a  Genoese 
family.  A  bishopric,  6000  souls;  3  convents  of  men  and  %  of 
women;  city  dirty,  and  nothing  remarkable  in  art,  nature,  or 
antiquity.  Odd  to  find  the  feme  of  Whig  and  Tory  spread  so 
far  as  the  inland  parts  of  South  Italy,  and  yet  one  of  the  most 


4 


558  yourncU  of  a 

knowing  fathers  asked  whether  Ireland  were  a  large  town.  [Library 
Scholastic,  and  some  few  expositors  with  a  few  fathers  in  a  small 
room.  One  or  two  Classics.  They  take  it  ill  to  be  asked  if 
they  have  any  poets.  In  another  convent^  they  said  '  What  have 
we  to  do  with  Virgil  ?  we  want  good  sound  books  ioK  diqxiting 
and  preaching/  M.] 

June  2. 
Set  out  at  7  +  12',  the  friars  in  a  body  accompanying  us  to  the 
gate  of  the  convent.  Land  unequal ;  corn,  vines,  ^s,  almonds 
intermixed;  com,  open  country;  large  shrub  to  the  left,  pasture 
and  few  scattered  fruit  trees  to  the  right ;  shrub  on  right  and  left. 
84-50',  get  out  of  the  great  shrub  into  a  spacious  tract  of  wavy 
country,  or  distinguished  by  risings;  in  it  not  a  tree  in  view; 
some  com,  some  shrub,  much  the  greater  part  stony  {pasture; 
a  small  brook,  no  cattle  nor  houses,  except  one  or  two  cottages, 
occur  in  this  ample  space ;  sheep  feed  here  in  winter,  in  summer  in 
the  Abruzzo,  grass  here  being  dried  up  in  the  summer,  and  a  fresh 
crop  in  September;  in  the  Abruzzo  pinched  with  cold  in  the  winter. 
These  easy  hills,  or  rather  risings,  and  plains  great  mountains  in 
the  maps.  This  immense  region  to  the  right  and  left,  i  perte  de 
vue^  appears  desert,  not  a  man  nor  beast;  those  who  own  the 
sheep  mentioned  are  men  of  the  Abruzzo,  many  of  them  very 
rich,  and  drive  a  great  trade,  sending  their  wool  to  Manfredonia, 
and  so  by  sea  to  Venice;  their  cheese  to  Naples  and  elsewhere 
up  and  down  the  kingdom;  they  nevertheless  live  meanly  like 
other  peasants,  and  many  with  bags  of  money  shan't  have  a 
coat  worth  a  groat;  much  cloth  made  at  Venice.  lo-f  40',  grass 
deeper,  white,  yellow,  red,  blue  flowers  mixed  with  it.  io-l-55'i 
vast  opening  before  and  on  the  right,  on  the  left  rocky  hills;  in 
all  this  vast  tract  not  a  tree  or  man  or  beast  to  be  seen,  and 
hardly  2  or  3  scattered  poor  houses ;  an  infinite  number  of  butter- 
flies, and  shrubs  mixed  with  the  pasture.  11  +25',  rocky  ground; 
opening  on  right  into  a  far  extended  green  corn  vale  between 
green  hills  bearing  corn  to  the  very  tops;  rocky  hills  left,  stony 
ground,  a  vale  before  with  corn  and  vines  and  a  few  trees.  The 
hills  round  have  corn,  but  no  trees,  except  those  on  the  right, 
which  are  barren  and  rocky,  without  either  trees  or  corn ;  pasture, 
wild  com,  vines  left;  corn  ri^t,  vines  left  for  a  long  space;  road 


Tour  in  Italy. 


559 


e  rock.  Inconveniently  cold  for  several  hours 
Bioming;  ciceri,  vines,  corn;  great  quarries  in  rocky  hills  on  our  left; 
left,  corn  on  right;  rocky  ground;  vines  right  and  left, 
Matera  1  +  30;  archbishopric,  souls  17,000;  they  seem  to  mis- 
reckon,  being  deceived  by  the  figure  of  the  town.  Houses  10,  one 
above  another  like  seats  in  a  theatre,  built  down  the  sides  of  an 
oval  hole;  more  men  cannot  stand  on  a  mountain  than  on  the 
Doder  plain.  Dined  in  a  garden,  offered  by  a  farrier  of  the 
town  as  we  were  looking  for  a  tree  in  the  suburbs;  the  man  very 
civil  and  well  behaved,  which  is  the  general  character.  Guardian 
of  the  Franciscan's  letter  to  Gravina;  he's  displeased  that  we 
stayed  not  there  in  Matera,  as  Calvo  had  intimated  in  his  letter  to 
bim.  Nothing  extraordinary  in  the  buildings  or  churches ;  all  these 
'inland  towns  in  our  return  inferior  to  those  on  the  Adriatic. 
6,  set  out  from  Matera;  vines,  corn,  walled  gardens  of  fruit-trees, 
rocky  road,  wide  opening  descent,  mostly  high  mountains  at  a 
distance  on  the  lef\;  hills  below;  pasture  and  corn;  hills  and  vales 
all  green;  pasture,  corn,  shrub,  the  last  but  little  and  on  the  hills. 
Vines  left,  com,  pasture ;  the  same  hilly  country  continued  in  the 
night ;  a  world  of  shining  flics ;  rocky  hills.  Lost  our  way ;  arrived 
after  much  wandering  afoot  at  a  Franciscan  convent  without  the 
walls  of  Gravina  at  11  in  the  night,  dark.  [Grana  dat  et  vina 
Clara  urbs  Gravina  inscribed  over  a  gate  of  the  town.  M,]  Last 
reckoning  of  the  inhabitants  9850;  walled  town,  duke's  palace, 
bishopric,  cathedral ;  well  paved  with  white  marble ;  situate  among 
naked  green  hills ;  5  convents  of  men  and  3  of  women ;  unhealthy 
air  in  wet  weather.  Duke  a  wretch ;  princes  obliged  by  del  Caspio 
to  give  their  own  or  the  heads  of  the  banditti  with  whom  they 
went  sharers.  Priests  count  the  number  of  their  pju-ishioners 
at  Easter;  Bishop  of  Gravina  dead  these  two  years,  since  which 
no  bishop  in  the  town,  the  Viceroy  not  admitting  the  person 
made  bishop  by  the  Pope,  as  being  a  foreigner.  N.  B.  The 
Bishop  of  Matera  12,000  crowns  a  year;  these  bishops  not  so 
poor  as  commonly  thought.  In  Matera  and  Gravina  they  make 
a  distinction  between  nobile  and  cavalere,  the  latter  being 
esteemed  the  higher  rank, 

June  3. 

Part  from  Gravina  at   10 ;  open   green  fields  and  hills  mostly 

covered  with  com  backwarder  than  in  the  plain;  corn  the  com- 


560  y&urnai  of  a 

modity  of  the  country.  Here  and  there  rocky  ; 
tains  about  three  miles  du'^tant  on  right;  not  a  tree; 
on  uur  right  thinly  scattered;  a  small  brook;  pastutt' 
com.  II,  great  scene  opening,  long  chain  of  barreo 
distant  about  3  miles  on  right;  open  pasture,  not  a 
pretty  plain,  wavy  rather  than  hilly;  few  blue 
oo  left ;  a  little  corn  on  the  right,  thistles  left ;  for  half  as 
passed  a  green  vale  of  pasture  bounded  with  green  risu^  ript 
between  our  road  and  the  stony  mountaios.  1 1  +40,  vast  plai% 
corn,  the  greater  part  pasture  between  ridges  of  mouDtaiosi 
Appennine  on  the  left,  old  Vultur  on  the  right;  hardly  a  hOB 
00  the  plain  or  hills;  the  Vultur  near  and  is  a  stony  barren  moai- 
tain.  1  -4-  30,  a  deep  vale,  divcrsihed  with  rising  hills  reaching  D 
the  mountains  on  left.  1  +  35,  Poggio  Ursini,  where  we  dind; 
chaplain  lent  us  his  chamber  in  the  Duke  of  Gravina's.  ^tasscii^ 
dirty;  the  Duke  spends  some  time  there  in  hunting.  Taranloll 
not  in  this  country;  he  hath  seen  several  bitten  with  a  Wad 
swohi  mark  as  large  as  half-a-crown ;  they  knew  not  they  wert 
bitten  till  dancing;  tarantula  bites  only  in  the  hot  months;  1 
peasant  at  Canosa  laughed  at  their  biting,  and  said  he  had  ofta 
taken  them  in  his  hands.  Duke  of  Gravina  30,000  ducats  pff 
annum  feudo,  and  30,000  negotio.  Doors  and  entrances  of  tk 
houses  dirty  and  forbidding  here  and  elsewhere,  but  otherwise  si 
Lecce.  3  +  40,  set  out  from  Poggio  Ursini  along  the  same  plain, 
pasture,  corn ;  beans  left,  com  right.  4  + 10,  descent  into  a  vak; 
pasture  left,  meadow  right  with  hay  made;  corn,  plain,  pastiirt, 
and  green  hills  on  right  and  left.  After  a  little  straying,  turn  6) 
the  left  and  descend ;  tall  thistles  5  foot  high ;  corn  in  the  ^-ale; 
corn  and  pasture.  5,  great  length  of  corn  along  the  bottom  of  the 
vale  on  the  right,  small  hills  and  la;^  spaces  of  rising  groond 
well  covered  with  corn  and  pasture.  [N.B.  Italians  liring 
in  towns  makes  *em  polite;  the  contrary  observable  in  the 
English.  M.]  Still  between  the  mountains  as  before;  ample 
space  again;  wood  at  a  good  distance  on  left,  %  of  gittt 
length  along  the  low  mountains.  6  +  20,  descend  into  i 
spacious  plain  (not  a  perfect  plain,  but  rising  lands  and  %-Blei 
intermixed);  corn,  pasture,  and  wood;  not  a  house  in  view  tbB 
afternoon.  6  + 1,  Spenn.izzuola,  a  village  belonging  to  the  Duke  of 
Calabrelta,  inhabitants  about  3000;  this  seems  too  many  ftw  SD 


Toiif  in  Italy. 


561 


tail  a  place,  and  yet  1  was  assured  it  by  a  priest  of  the  town ; 
convents.  Situate  pleasantly,  having  on  one  side  fine  wood  and 
lly  glens  with  trees  and  com,  on  the  other  an  open  country, 
m,  and  pasture;  fleas  innumerable. 

June  4. 

Set  out  at  6  + j;  open  hills,  corn,  and  pasture  as  before;  corn. 
4-|>  large  space  of  ground,  shrub  thin,  and  pasture;  forest  trees 
i  the  right,  ridge  of  woody  mountains  three  miles  on  left;  wide 
Ue,  shnib,  and  pasture  opening  to  the  left,  displaying  a  delight- 
1  scene,  a  fruitful  ridge  of  hills  well  wooded  bounding  the  sight. 
I  wood  on  right,  and  shrub  succeeding,  Lopalozzo,  town  on 
pleasant  bill  on  the  left;  fruitful  pleasant  plain  between  over 
relling  hills  and  mountains  on  left;  vale  between  gentle  hills; 
corn,  shrub;  rising  ground,  corn,  pasture  and  corn  in  a 
vatc  on  right,  wotxl  on  the  gentle  hill  that  bounds  it;  rising 
iwl,  pasture,  shrub  or  copse ;  descent  into  an  ample  plain ;  corn, 
lb,  pasture  advancing  obliquely  to  the  woody  mountains, 
(jrond  which  higher  mountains;  delightful  small  vale,  environed 
itb  gentle  hills  most  crowned  with  wood,  a  river  or  rather  rivulet 
.ning  through.  9  +  J,  ascent,  little  space,  through  a  wood ;  rising 
:n  corn  field  right,  wood  left ;  beyond  tlie  corn  on  right,  pasture 
ith  cattle,  and  beyond  that  chain  of  fruitful  hills;  up  and  down 
rough  the  skirts  of  a  wood,  soil  stiff  reddish  clay,  glade  opening 
the  fruitful  hills  on  right.  9  +  40,  large  corn  field,  bounded 
h  gentle  hills,  a  few  scattered  trees  among  the  com  right,  forest 
ft ;  down  a  hill,  at  the  bottom  of  which  a  rivulet,  Ibrest  on  both 
long  glade  opening  to  the  left  bounded  by  the  mountains. 
cA  Acherontium,  now  Cirenza  '*,  on  our  left  behind,  on  a  moun- 
in's  top.  10+  25,  Brionre,  a  city  on  a  mountain  left,  and  Barial 
I  the  mountain  side;  large  shrub,  being  the  skirt  of  the  forest; 
large  plain,  shrub,  pasture,  much  corn,  in  which  Venosa.  All 
is  while  advancing  obliquely  to  the  mountains  on  the  left;  glen, 
rgc  walnut  trees  in  the  same  descending  road  along  the  right 
le  of  it,  bits  of  old  walls  on  our  right  of  the  road ;  corn,  vines, 
rvcs,  8cc.  on  the  sleep  hills  on  either  side ;  pass  over  a  brook  at 
Ottom  of  our  descent,  which  stony ;  stony  ascent  after  the  brook, 
Dttoes  on  the  left ;  the  same  glen,  after  turning,  now  on  right. 

rou  IV.  00 


562  yournal  of  a 

Arrived  at  Venosa  at  12;  poor  ill-built  town  inhabited  by  pea- 
sants 'j  souls  5000 ;  bishopric ;  churches  mean ;  statue  of  Horace^ 
being  a  sorry  Gothic  bust  placed  on  the  frieze  of  a  pillar  in  4e 
place.  Horatius  Flaccus  by  name,  well  known  to  all  the  poor 
men  of  the  town,  who  flocked  about  to  tell  us  on  seeing  us  look 
at  the  statue ;  the  men  of  this  town  in  crowds  gaping  and  folknr> 
ing  us  about  the  town,  the  idlest  canaille  and  most  bqgarly  I  hsie 
anywhere  seen.  Morsels  of  inscriptions  in  the  walls,  pieces  d 
pillars  and  other  ornaments  of  rich  marble  about  the  streeCk 
Near  the  cathedral  old  brick  walls  shown  us  for  the  hoose  of 
Horace.  *  This,*  say  they,  *  we  have  by  tradition/  By  the  ftwft- 
tain  remains  of  2  busts,  with  an  inscription  maimed  undemead^ 
beginning  <C  Tullio;'  fine  white  marble  lion  at  the  same 
fountain.  Two  or  three  more  monumental  stones  with  maimed 
epitaphs  in  a  row.  Venosa  belongs  to  the  Prince  of  Toidht 
3,  set  out  from  Venosa,  which  is  situate  on  a  rising  ground  ia 
a  vale  between  the  horns  of  the  Apennine  (the  horn  on  our  left 
entering  the  town,  low  and  fruitful,  the  Vultur  anciently).  Rising 
ground,  descent  ^  walnuts,  pomegranates,  olives,  figs,  vines,  com; 
ascent,  fruit-trees  on  right  and  left,  com,  and  pasture,  and  wavy 
plain.  4,  along  a  narrow  road  between  hills,  thicket  on  either 
side,  vale;  brook  on  our  left;  stony  road  ascending,  coarse  narrow 
vale  on  the  right  bounded  by  stony  or  rocky  hills;  narrow  between 
hills,  vale  opening  to  the  right,  pasture,  much  com,  herd  of  swine. 
Leucrienna;  small  river  on  the  right  running  through  the  vale; 
turn  to  the  right  through  corn  part  ripe  and  part  reaped ;  pass  a 
stream ;  hills  close  on  the  left,  vale  with  pasture  and  com  ex- 
tended on  the  right.  6-hJ,  narrower  between  hills,  presently 
large  opening ;  ploughed  land  right,  corn  left ;  not  a  house  this 
afternoon ;  wide  vale  opening  to  the  right  and  lefl ;  old  church j 
green  hills  left,  partly  covered  with  wood;  com  reaped  and  ripcj 
two  little  houses  near  each  other.  River  Aufidus  in  view  on  right, 
mnning  so  as  to  make  oblique  angles  with  our  road ;  his  banb 
deep  and  shore  spacious,  showing  him  outrageous  at  certain  times; 
his  margin  adomed  with  green  trees.  7  +  i,  crossed  Aufidus;  steep 
ascent,  then  a  spacious  plain,  com ;  corn  everywhere  suffers  fo 
want  of  rain.  Wide  pasture  after  the  corn ;  flock  of  sheep,  black 
as  usual ;  a  straw  cabin  belonging  to  one  of  the  Abruzzo  shep- 
herds; ascent,  stony  coarse  pasture  full  of  thistles;  not  a  tree; 


Tonr  in  Italy.  563 

:  pasture  less  stony.  Cappella,  small  town  on  a  rock  distant  6  miles 
-  left ;  ample  space  of  corn  right  and  left.    9,  ascend  out  of  the 

vale.  N.  B.  All  this  day  environed  by  mountains.  After  our 
.ascent  through  a  difGcult  path,  many  ups  and  downs,  stony,  nar- 
itom  and  uneasy,  among  shrubby  mountains,  &c.  on  foot,  we 
:  arrived  in  the  night  at  an  ample  opening,  much  com,  and  thence 
5  by  an  unequal  stony  road  descended  to  the  town  of  Ascoli,  where 
;  we  arrived  at  10  -f  \.  While  on  foot  in  the  dark,  about  \  a  mile 
:  before  our  chaises  (which  we  had  lost  and  sought  crying),  we  passed 

bjr  some  country  folks  eating  beans  in  a  field,  who  kindly  asked 
us  to  partake.  Ascoli  hath  500  friars ;  bishopric  ^  io,coo  ducats ; 
Duke  of  Ascoli  residing  there,  15,000  ducats  per  annum  from 
tenants^  besides  10,000  from  negotio.  Roman  bricks  and  frag- 
ments in  the  walls  of  houses,  several  pieces  of  pillars,  imperfect 
or  defaced  Roman  inscriptions,  grottoes  in  the  hill  adjoining. 
Situation  on  a  hill,  environed  mostly  by  a  plain,  corn  ahd  pasture ; 
not  a  tree ;  hills  on  the  left.  Inhabitants  are  clergy  and  peasants. 
Xhey  boast  of  a  sainf  s  finger  kept  in  a  church  of  a  convent  on  a 
hill  overlooking  the  town,  which,  so  far  as  the  church  is  visible, 
prevents  the  bite  of  the  tarantula.  Convents  in  Ascoli  3 ;  stone 
[ions  several  here  as  at  Venosa  and  Beneventum. 

5. 
Set  out  from  Ascoli  at  7 ;  descent,  coarse  pasture  most,  some 
corn  left;  plain,  some  corn,  much  pasture;  plain,  opening  to  the 
sea  on  right.  7  +  },  bridge  over  the  Carapella ;  Villa  Cedri  about 
10  miles  wide  on  left  on  a  hill;  ground  dried  and  burnt  like  a  turf. 
N.  B.  Mornings  cold,  afternoons  hot ;  ascent,  convent  on  right ; 
soon  after  descent,  some  corn,  most  pasture,  soil  burnt  black,  road 
black  like  turf;  large  parched  plain  continues,  bounded  on  each 
side  by  hills.  94-Jj  ascent,  then  descent  into  a  large  vale;  parched 
ground,  grass  and  corn,  large  grove  of  wild  pear-trees  right.  Troja, 
on  a  hill  before  us,  ascent ;  large  field  of  com  in  a  vale  on  right, 
better  or  less  parched  land  than  before.  Troja  left  on  our  right 
about  6  miles.  10+  f,  past  a  bridge  over  a  perfectly  dried  stream ; 
stony  road  through  woods;  out  of  the  wood,  hill  covered  with 
wood  left,  shrubby  hills  on  right.  11+20,  Ponte  Bovino;  set  out 
from  Ponte  Bovino,  or  the  Great  Inn,  at  a  +f .  Stone  road  through 
the  Apennine  on  the  side  of  the  Cerbalus,  which  runs  through  the 

002 


564  youmal  of  a 

bottom  of  the  glen  on  left^  woody  mountains  right  and  kit  1^ 
Bovino,  city  on  the  mountain  top  left,  the  deep  vale  or  g^en  on  ||i 
left  full  of  trees,  spots  of  corn  now  and  then,  as  well  in  the  vak 
on  left  as  on  the  mountain  on  right;  between  whiles  delig^ilftl 
openings  of  cultivated  land  among;  bridge.  Bauro,  townontiic 
moimtain  left;  long  bridge  over  a  glen.  Monteon,  town  ofi 
mountain  right;  another  bridge;  dry  river  now  and  then  shows 
itself;  large  fountain  built  of  square  stone,  pleasant  shading  from 
either  hand  across  the  road.  6  -h  20,  the  mountains  sink  on  either 
side  and  the  road  opens,  the  wood  decreasing ;  fields  of  shnih,  and 
com  mixed  therewith,  on  the  sides  of  the  mountain ;  flat  slips  of 
green  corn  along  the  bottom  of  the  vale  left ;  bridge  ;  wood  ends  in 
shrub;  pasture  and  com  fields  on  a  hill  left.  Savignano  left, 
Greci  right ;  both  on  points  of  hills.  Out  of  the  shrub  into  ai 
open  hilly  country,  com  and  pasture ;  bridge  over  a  dry  river,  noC 
a  drop  of  water;  country  grows  more  plain,  wavy  com  countrf, 
not  a  house  to  be  seen,  hills  fruitful.  10  4-  i,  Ariano ;  after  several 
hours  of  windy  rainy,  cold  weather;  forced  to  have  a  fire^  being 
exceeding  cold  (not  wet),  the  5th  of  June,  N.S. 

June  6. 

8  -f  25,  left  Ariano ;  descent,  large  prospect  of  fruitful  low  hills 
covered  with  corn  and  trees  like  England  right  and  left.  Grove 
left,  delightful  prospect  of  wide  vale  and  chain  of  adverse  hills 
fruitful.  Furmini  on  a  hill  left ;  descent  for  some  time  past ;  rising 
hills  fruitful,  yielding  view  like  the  county  of  Armagh.  Brook;  I 
Bonito  on  a  fruitful  hill  right,  the  other  brook  or  branch  of  Funio-  I 
rella  between  Ariano  and  La  Grotta.  Wavy,  hilly,  open  country; 
com  and  grass,  some  hills  (especially  about  La  Grotta  and  on  the 
sides  at  some  distance)  well  planted  with  trees,  others  bare  of 
trees;  little  shrub  near  La  Grotta.  La  Grotta  at  11 ;  procession; 
peasants  in  fine  clothes,  host  under  canopy ;  firing  guns,  streamers 
and  standards  flourished;  confraternities,  clergy,  &c.;  red  and  blue 
petticoats,  &c.  hung  out  for  arras.  N.  B.  A  procession  in  the 
same  place  before.  Ascent  between  corn  fields,  hills  and  vales 
thick  scattered  with  trees ;  ascent  through  enclosed  road,  on  both 
sides  fine  gentle  hills  covered  with  corn  and  adorned  with  trees; 
all  this  day  cold,  though  wrapped  in  my  cloak ;  foggy,  mizzling, 
bleak  weather,  like  that  in  Ireland ;  beans,  corn ;  ascent  all  the 


Tour  in  Italy. 


565 


r  from  La  Grotta  to  Fricento  '^    Shrub  and  com,  long  view  of 

ant  hills  left,  long  grove  of  oaks  on  pleasant  rising  ground 

bt ;  ample  fields  on  gentle  hills,  fern,  corn,  oaks  ^  deep  glen  or 

:  full  of  trees  left,  another  vale  right;  beans,  corn,  oaks  scat- 

]  all  about;  most  ample  prospect,  opening  hills,  partly  wooded, 

■tly  naked;    towns  on  points  of  hills,  beautiful  vales,  elegant 

nfiision,  all  this  on   looking  to  the  north  from  a  hill.     [In  a 

octuary  on  Monte  Virgine  arc  contained  the  bones  of  Shadrach, 

Mesech,  and   Abednego.     This   in   the   famous   monastery  there 

tsortcd  to  for  miracles,  indulgences,  and  reliques  numberless.  M.] 

Stony  road,  corn,  top  of  a  hill  covered  with  fern;  short  descent, 

pro.   Jesualto  in  a  vale  right,  vale  of  great  extent  running  parallel 

y  our  road  on  right,  and  terminated  on  the  other  side  by  moun- 

s  finely  wooded  and  thrown  together.    [Mons  Tabor,  anciently 

us  Taburnus.   M.]      From  Fricento  (where  we  dined  tub  dio 

hout  the  town,  in  the  view  of  many  people)  we  went  down  a 

*nt  of  three  miles,  through  wood,  corn,  and  pasture,  to  the 

»iTicti   lacus;    triangular,  whitish,   stinking;    about  40  paces 

Famiglietta  threw  in  a  dog,  who,  after  half  an  hour,  came 

bones.     Peasants  find  birds,  hares,  goats,  wolves,  &c.  dead 

*it  it,  and  go  to  look  for  them  in  the  mornings  during  summer: 

5  years  agone  3  men  found  dead.     The  water  good  for  the  itch, 

■rounds,  leprosy;  cold;  thrown  a  yard  high;  other  the  like  lakes. 

Hit  small;  depth  unfathomable.     Silver  all  turned  yellow,  whereas 

Besuvius  and  Solfiitara  turn  black ;  oaks  smell,  being  burnt.    Small 

^yeaxn  hard  by  the  lake,  of  a  like  whitish  water.     Stone  hollowed 

it   one  end,  somewhat  like  a  font,  said  to  be  a  remain  of  the 

»mple.     N.B.  Our  entertainment  at  Famiglietta's,  &c. 

kjune  7. 
Vale,  and  beyond  that  vale,  craggy,  high,  green,  shrubby  moun- 
In  ;  open  fields  ;  woods ;  fields  planted  with  trees  around ;  Vesu- 
rio;  towns  and  white  houses  scattered  on  the  hills  to  the  right, 
with  Mons  Taburnus ;  Amsancti  valles  to  the  left — this  on  looking 
lo  the  west.  Pianura,  Campi  Taurasini  '*,  Bencvento  lontano;  Bat 
ploughed  land,  wood  in  the  middle — north.  Trevico  right,  Ariano 
left;  sea  between  naked  mountains  thrown  variously  tt^ether; 
tllagcs,  ploughed  land,  and  woods  in  the  vale ;  Fiume  Albi — east 

►  riieen'".  Org:\  ["  ?  See  Smith's  Did.  a/Andtnl  Gtogropbj.  in  «l.  Taoniii.T 


566  Journal  of  a 

prospect  Amsancti  valles ;  two  fine  woods ;  rising  land  bctwcca 
S.  Angelo  delli  Longobardi  ri^t,  and  La  Guaxdia  deili  Loogo- 
bardi  left ;  hig^  mountains  to  the  right  and  left,  lower  before- 
south.  Six  bishoprics  and  %  archbishoprics;  Taurasi  and  Ii 
Torclla.  Fricento  belongs  to  the  Principe  della  Torella;  25,000 
souls  [2500.  M.];  July  and  \  August  without  fires.  An  image 
on  Monte  Viigine  protects  the  country  about  as  fiu-  as  visible, 
ftom  tarantulas,  which,  say  they,  are  here  likewise.  Two  bears 
slain  last  year  in  a  neighbouring  wood. 

June  8. 

Set  out  from  Fricento  at  12;  down  hill;  corn,  pasture,  open; 
a  few  scattered  trees;  shrub  left,  com,  deep  vale  right;  before; 
a  vast  opening,  vale  between  rising  hills,  green,  yellow,  red, 
different  shades  of;  corn  fields,  with  woods  and  scattered  trees; 
lost  the  way  among  beans  and  corn;  got  into  the  great  road; 
descent ;  rising  hills,  com,  woods ;  fruit  trees  and  few  vines  00 
either  side  the  road ;  adverse  long  hill  or  fiiiitfiil  mountain  on  the 
other  side  the  Galore;  Monte  Mileto  and  Monte  Fusco  in  the 
same.  6,  left  Ponte  Galore ;  passed  the  river,  which  in  Italy  is 
large  enough ;  ascent  up  a  paved  road;  com,  pasture,  trees;  vari- 
ous rising  ground.  Monte  Mileto  left,  on  a  hill  covered  with 
wood ;  vines  twining  round  trees  left,  corn  and  trees  right ;  vines 
hanging  in  festoons  from  tree  to  tree;  Monte  Fusco  right;  very 
good  made  road;  immense  prospect  of  vale  and  hills  right,  part 
wooded,  part  not.  This  view  seen  to  advantage  from  Monte  Fusco 
and  Monte  Mileto ;  our  road  like  lightning.  8,  got  to  the  top, 
whence  a  new  extended  scene  discovered  of  vales  and  hills  covered 
with  wood,  likewise  of  high  mountains,  and  several  towns  scat- 
tered on  the  sides  and  tops  of  hills;  country  beautiftil,  fruitful, 
^'arious,  populous  \  very  many  new  towns  in  delightftil  situations, 
some  on  the  points  of  hills,  others  hanging  on  precipices,  some  on 
gentle  slopes,  &c.  Double  most  noble  scene  (just  described  both) 
seen  from  Monte  Fusco,  lying  to  the  eastward  and  westward; 
highest  mountains  right  and  left,  covered  with  trees.  Ponte  del 
Prato;  large  bridge,  hardly  a  drop  of  water  under  it;  hills  and 
vales  all  round,  richly  covered  with  trees,  as  well  fruit  as  others, 
and  vines  and  spots  of  com ;  another  bridge  over  a  valley  for  the 
convenience  of  travelling.    Prato,  a  town  right ;  ascent ;  descent ; 


Tour  in  Italy. 


367 


ridge 


r  3.  valley;  cross  a  bridge  over  the  Sabato,  4  miles 


I  Avellino;  shining  f 
llong  an  enclosed  level  road  to  Avellino,  where  we  arrived  at 
|0+ t-  Avellino  reckons  (I  doubt  misreckons)  30,00a;  'tis  an 
pen,  handsome  town,  situate  in  a  vale  among  high  mountains 
ovcred  with  wood.  Fountain  and  town -house  adorned  with 
usts  and  statues  handsome  enough,  N.B.  Best  inn  I  met  with 
n  the  kingdom  here. 

June  9th. 
Set  out  from  Avellino  at  6  +  50 ;  a  tall  avenue  of  elms ;  grove 
f  hazels  (much  esteemed  here)  on  each  side  the  road,  and  vines 
□  festoons  from  pole  to  pole  among  the  nuts  on  left;  avenue 
mds,  being  a  mile  long.  All  this  way  on  right  and  left  high  hills 
covered  thick  with  trees,  chcsnut  or  continued  forest ;  large  wall- 
Huts  on  the  wayside;  grapes  in  festoons  on  both  sides.  8  +  ^, 
bazeb  end.  8  +  20,  pass  through  Montefbrte,  a  small  town ;  as- 
cent ;  descent ;  stony  unequal  road,  between  mountains  covered 
with  chcsnuts  close  on  either  side ;  hazels,  walnuts,  chesnuts  all 
the  way;  vines  in  festoons;  large  cherries,  great  number  of  trees 
thick  laden  with  them  all  along  the  road ;  hill  on  left  almost 
naked,  having  only  the  stumps  of  trees;  bridge.  Pass  through  a 
Tillage;  vineyards  in  festoons  right  and  left;  village;  vines  and 
fruit  trees;  another  village;  figs,  cherries,  vines,  &c.  right  and 
left;  village.  11  +  J,  vineyards  right  and  left;  olives  and  vines 
left,  vines  right.  (N.B.  Corn,  hemp,  &c,  among  the  vines  for  the 
most  part.)  Vineyards  right  and  left,  i,  Nola;  souls,  3000;  7 
convents  men,  5  women. 

J^LLIO  JULIO  CLEMENTIANO  SUBVDNTUI  CIVIUM  NECESSITATIS 
AURARlvE  DEFENSORI,  LIBERTATIS  REDONATORI  VI.«  POPULI 
OMNIUM  MUNERUM  RECREATORI  UNIVERSA  REGIO  ROMANA 
PATRONO   PRvESTANTISSIMO   STATUAM   COLLOCAVIT". 

First  inscription  under  a  statue  in  the  court  of  a  private  house  j 

:  plain])'  written.     It  Mnu  to  be 


YllAM   SEX.   F.   RUFIN/E  SORRERI    FIGI   SERENI   AUG.   LARUM 

MINISTRI.   LD.   DD. 

VICTORIiE   AUG.   AUGUSTALES.] 


568  Journal  of  a 

2  other  inscriptions  under  2  of  the  4  statues  ancient  in  the  place 
before  the  cathedral;  one  of  the  remaining  two  is  of  the  same 
Pollius,  the  inscription  of  the  other  is  defiaced.  The  Bell.  Bishop 
4000  crowns,  out  of  which  pension  2000.  Left  hfola  at  3+}; 
^Tliisus  Alus  Cujus/  &c.  over  the  Jesuits*  gate  along  the  facade 
of  the  convent;  apples,  plums^  cherries;  pears^  apricxits,  vines, 
com  on  each  side  the  road.  44-i,  festoon  vineyards  right  and 
left,  also  com;  Campagna  between  mountains;  Vesuvius  left 
5  +  }>  a  village;  still  festoon  vineyards,  elms,  com  right  and  left, 
but  no  mountains,  at  least  none  in  view.  6  +  5,  village.  6 +|,  vil- 
lage. N.B.  The  greatest  part  of  this  afternoon  vines  round  elms 
without  festoons.     8,  Naples. 

Road  from  Rome  to  Naples. 

ist  post  6  miles,  through  the  fiat  campagna;  some  hay  and 
corn ;  not  a  tree ;  hardly  a  cottage. 

2nd  post  to  Marino,  6  miles  through  the  like  flat  campagna, 
though  ascending  insensibly  towards  Marino,  which  is  a  pretty, 
clean  village,  belonging  to  the  Constable  Colonna. 

3rd  post  9  miles,  to  Veletri.  About  2  miles  after  Marino,  pass 
by  the  lake  of  Castel  Gondolfo  on  our  right;  view  of  Castel 
Gondolfo;  land  pretty  well  tilled  in  the  beginning  of  this  post. 
Within  3  miles  of  Veletri,  steep  descent  to  that  city.  This  post 
over  and  among  hills  and  woods. 

4th  post  8  miles  and  \.  First  mile  and  \  through  enclosures 
and  trees;  7  last  through  rising  ground,  being  spacious,  open, 
green  corn  fields.     Cisterna,  seat  of  the  Prince  of  Caserta. 

5th  post  7  miles  from  Cisterna,  the  better  part  through  a 
forest  with  deer,  belonging  to  the  Prince. 

6th  post  8  miles  from  Sermeneta,  lying  through  the  Campagna. 
A  mile  and  \  on  the  other  side  Sermeneta  attacked  for  a  giuliOi 
N.B.  The  Campagna  green,  and  in  many  parts  woody,  flat,  and 
marshy ;  no  houses ;  hardly  any  corn ;  no  cattle,  but  a  few  bufla- 
loes. 

7th  post  to  Piperno,  seven  miles.  Near  a  mile  in  the  Cam- 
pagna di  Roma;  the  other  6  among  hills  and  fruitful  vales. 
Piperno  situate  on  a  hill. 

8th  post  8  miles:  2  first  among  wood  and  hills;  6  last  through 
a  plain  champaign,  mostly  uninhabited,  &c. 


I  Tour  in  Italy.  5^f^| 

;  9tli  post  to  Terradoa,  8  miles,  along  the  side  of  shrubby,  stony   ^ 
lilts  on  left.     Some  ruins,  seeming  of  sepulchres,  on  the  road;  on 
he  right  Monte  Circello  in  view.     All  this  post  on  right  marshy 
low  ground,  little  cultivated  or  inhabited. 

loth  post  to  Fondi,  lo  miles.  Limits  of  the  kingdom  entered  i 
irithin  6  miles  of  Fondi.  Near  2  miles  beyond  the  boundaries 
isscd  on  our  left  a  sepulchre  of  huge  square  Jtones,  very  noble 
U)d  entire,  now  turned  into  a  stable  for  asses;  no  inscription. 
"he  3  first  miles  of  this  post  close  along  the  sea,  being  edged  on 
iie  left  by  mountains;  many  broken  rocks  has  fallen  in  an  earth- 
quake on  the  road ;  about  _i;  miles  further  having  woody  and  stony 
bills  on  left  close,  and  at  small  distance  on  right  the  Palus 
"Omptina;  land  flat,  marshy,  hardly  inhabited  for  the  illness  of  the 
ir,  3  last  miles  through  a  fruitful  plain;  oranges,  &c.  before  we 
reached  Fondi.  A  small  river  seemed  to  render  it  marshy  and 
unwholesome,  flowing  by  the  city  on  the  side  towards  Rome. 

ith  post  from  Fondi  to  Itri,  7  miles.  First  3  or  4  miles 
over  a  plain,  gently  ascending,  planted  with  cypress,  orange,  and 
lemon  trees  near  the  town  of  Fondi ;  last  3  miles  between  and 
over  hills  on  the  Appian  Way :  these  hills  extend  across  to  the  sea. 
I2th  post  from  Itri  to  Mola,  5  miles.  Itri  a  town  poor  and 
dirty,  but  pretty  large.  This  post  enclosed  between  hills  right  and 
left ;  many  olives,  almost  all  on  the  Appian  Way. 

13th  post  from  Mola  to  the  Garigliano,  8  miles.  A  large 
grove  of  olives,  after  which  near  4  miles  stony,  unequal,  shrubby 
ground;  4  miles  more,  fine  corn  country,  meadows  also  pleasant, 
and  scattered  trees  in  sight.  Near  the  Garigliano  we  passed 
between  an  old  aqueduct  on  the  left  and  certain  large  ruins  on  the 
light,  as  of  an  amphitheatre.  This  post  we  had  the  mountains 
near  us  on  left  and  sea  on  the  right.  Divers  ruins,  as  seeming  of 
sepulchres,  this  post  on  the  road  side.  Greater  part  of  this  post 
on  the  Appian  Way,  whereof  fragments  appear  entire,  and  ending 
abruptly,  as  if  part  had  been  cut  off  or  taken  away.  Liris  larger 
than  the  Vulturnus,  N.B.  Trceto  on  a  hill  on  the  other  side  the 
aqueduct. 

14th  post  from  Garigliano  to  S.  Agata,  10  miles.  Ferry  over 
the  river;  open,  large,  fiat,  pleasant  meadows  along  the  Liris, 
which  flowed  on  our  left;  after  which,  chain  of  mountains  on  c 
right;  country  unequal,  with  pleasant  risings;  within  4  miles  of 


570 


yournal  of  a 


S.  Agata  country  thick  planted  with  vines  and  olives,  especially 
the  latter,  of  which  a  perfect  wood  near  S.  Agata.  N.B.  Sessa 
fine  town  within  less  than  a  mile  of  S.  Agata.  Henceforward  to 
Naples  the  Campania  felix,  which  begins  either  at  the  river  Liris, 
or  on  the  other  side  Sessa,  the  ancient  Suessa  Aurunca. 

15th  post  from  S.  Agata,  10  miles.  2  first  miles  through  a 
country  thick  set  with  vines,  olives,  &c.,  in  which  the  Appian 
Way,  no  more  of  which  to  Naples ;  hills  these  two  miles  oa  left 
and  right ;  at  the  end  of  these  two  miles  a  village,  [Cassano]  where 
the  view  of  the  Appian  road.  After  this  village  a  hilly  country,  and 
great  part  of  the  road  cut  throu^  a  rock;  then  a  wood  of  oaks^ 
cypress,  &c.;  after  which  delicious  country  like  the  following  post 

1 6th  post  9  miles  to  Capoa,  through  delicious  green  fields 
plain  and  spacious,  adorned  with  fruit  trees  and  oaks  so  scattered 
and  disposed  as  to  make  a  most  delightful  landscape,  much  corn 
and  fruit,  many  white  country  houses  beautifying  the  prospect; 
hiountains  on  our  left. 


^^  Terra  di  Lavoro,  56,990,  besides  Naples,  its  casali,  and  about  ^a 
dozen  more  from  towns  whose  fiiochi  ^^  are  not  numbered. 


Fuochu 

Aversa  1905 

Capua  and  casali 5343 

Caserta  and  casali    1184 


Fooctt. 

Fundi    iM 

Itri     440 

Madaluni 749 


Principato  citra  Salerno. 

Fuochi. 


Auletta 119 

Eboli 355 

Nocera  di  Pagani 536 


FMcfc 


Salerno 16^ 

Scafati  « 

Vietri    i«j 


Principato  ultra. 

Fuochi. 


Ariano  749 

Avellino    600 


"  The  following  notices  are  on  the  oppo- 
site page : — 

(1)  Principato  citra  all  Picenza  [Picentia 
on  the  coast]  with  part  of  Lucania  and 
Campania  felix:  its  metropolis  Salerno. 
Cities  18,  whereof  Salerno  and  AmalH  are 
A.B.Pcs,  the  rest  Bpt.  Grain  and  wine 
plenty. 

(a)  Principato  Ulteriore,  provincia  Hirpina, 


Fricento 


with  a  small  part  of  the  land  of  the  Sana)" 
and  Campanians;  of  13  cities,  3,  i.e. Ba^ 
ventum  and  Conza,  ABps,  the  rest  4^| 
Wine,  chesnuts,  hunting,  fishing. 

*•  [This  word  is  indistinctly  written.  ^] 
looks  Uke/uodit.     I  believe  it  to  \)tfvoA^* 
firts^  i.e.  bearibs  ot  families,  as  in  the  pbi'i'l 
pro  oris  etfocis,'] 


Tour  in  Italy. 


571 


Basillcata. 

Fuochi. 


o  Negro 570 

inazuola 491 


Fuochi. 

Vcnosa 473 

Matera 2027 


Calabria  bassa  6  citra. 

Fuochi. 


tro  ViUari  183 

enza    1854 

sano    ; 284 


Tarsia  

Tcrranuova 


Fuochi. 

37 
168 


Calabria  alta  6  ultra. 

Fuochi. 


anzaro 2651 

ronei   60 

rone    446 

a iia 


Fuochi. 

Monteleone 1793 

Pizzo 442 

Roferno    379 

Seminara  945 


Terra  d'Otranto. 

FuochL 


idisi  1428 

tellaneta 691 

alnovo 1002 


Fuochi. 

Fagiano    123 

Lecce    3300 

Taranto    1870 


Terra  di  Bari. 


Fuochi. 

i   ^345^ 

letta 1735R 

losa 269 

ivina 1916 

ivenazzo  628 


Fuochi. 

Monopoli 1864R 

Molfetta  1247 

Mola 1436 

Trani    787 

Visceglia  alias  Biseglia...  1692 


Capitanata. 
Ascoli  381. 


In  the  Kingdom  of  Napl 


ices 

kes    

rquesses 


128 
200 
200 


Counts 24 

Archbishops 21 

Bishops 127 


N.B.  Reckoning  the  eldest  sons  and  double  titles* 


}ran  corte  della  Vicaria,  supreme  court  like  (somewhat  to  our 


572  yournal  of  a 

King's  Bench.  Governed  by  the  Regent  of  the  Vicaria  a  Cavalicrc, 
who  therefore  is  assisted  by  judges  civil  and  criminal. 

The  great  officers  have  the  precedence,  title,  and  stipend  doe  to 
their  places,  but  their  power  is  exercised  by  the  King  ;  that  of  the 
Great  Constable  (i.  e.  Captain  General)  by  the  generals,  colonels, 
capitani  d*arme,  &c.;  that  of  the  Gran  Giustitiere  by  the  Regent 
of  the  Vicaria ;  and  in  like  sort  of  the  rest. 

Collaterale  is  the  supreme  royal  tribunal,  composed  of  the  seven 
great  officers,  the  Consiglieri  di  Stato  and  the  R^enti,  or  of  the 
7  officers  and  Regenti  della  Cancellaria.  This  hath  supreme 
power  in  making  laws,  punishing  magistrates,  commerce,  &c 

Sacro  Consiglio,  consisting  of  President  and  Counsellors.  An- 
ciently the  kings  of  Naples  appointed  judges  of  appeal  from  the 
Vicaria  and  other  tribunals.  But  Alfonsus  the  First  of  Arragon 
took  away  those  judges,  constituting  this  Sacro  Consiglio  di 
Giustitia  to  judge  of  appeals  from  all  parts  of  the  kingdom.  Not 
only  causes  of  appeal,  but  likewise  first  causes  are  determined  by 
them,  for  which  the  President  delegates  such  Counsellors  to  judge 
as  he  pleases.     Their  sentences  are  given  in  the  King's  name. 

Regia  Camera,  which  takes  cognizance  of  the  royal  income  or 
patrimony  (as  they  call  it),  i.e.  taxes,  customs,  &c.;  in  a  word,  all 
that  belongs  to  the  Exchequer. 

Gran  corte  della  Vicaria,  above  explained,  but  this  its  place. 

So  much  from  Capaccio ;  what  follows  next  from  Pacichelli  and 
others. 

I  mo.  Tribunale  is  the  Consiglio  di  Stato,  consisting  of  such 
persons  as  Viceroy  pleases :  a  sort  of  Cabinet. 

OP.  Tribunale  is  the  Collaterale,  consisting  of  six  regents  of  the 
Cancellaria,  who  have  great  power,  or  rather  sovereign,  in  the 
management  of  affairs  relating  to  civil  institutions,  commerce,  &c. 

3^  II  Sagro  Consiglio,  un  Presidente  con  Ventiquattro  Consig- 
lieri, hear  appeals,  and  also  first  causes:  acts  in  the  King's  name. 

4**.  La  Regia  Camera  detta  la  Sommaria  ha  per  capo  il  gran 
Camerlengo  ma  esercita  la  Giurisdittione  per  un  Luogotenente 
scelto  dal  Re.  Under  him  are  8  presidents,  doctors,  and  3  presi- 
dents [?],  idiots'  advocate,  procurator  fiscal,  secretario,  registers, 
accountants,  clerks,  &c.,  qui  si  maneggia  il  patrimonio  reale,  &c., 
si  affitton  gabelle,  &c. 

La  gran  Corte  della  Vicaria  si  Administra  da  un  Luogotenente 


Tour  in  Italy. 


5731 


si  elegge  ogni  due  anai  del  Vicerc  detto  Regente.     This  court 

divided  into  the  two  udienze  civile  et  criminale,  6  judges  to  each. 

Divers  other  tribunals,  as  that  of  S.  Lorenzo,  governed  by  the 
cletti,  7  in  number,  but  with  6  votes,  one  being  chosen  out  of  and 
for  each  Seggio,  except  that  of  Montagna,  which  ch(x)ses  two,  one 
for  itself,  and  one  for  Ponclla  and  Seggio  incorporated  with  it,  but 
they  have  only  one  voice. 

The  eletto  del  popolo  is  thus  chosen : — Every  ottina  (of 
which  there  be  29,  into  which  the  whole  city  is  divided,  being 
the  same  with  regions  or  wards)  nameth  two  persons,  which 
nuiking  in  number  58,  these  assemble,  and  with  the  Secretary  of 
the  Piazzo  del  Popolo  for  Revisori  delli  voti ;  after  which  every 
of  the  58  names  being  etetto,  which  is  often  done  with  maledic- 
tion and  invective  scurrilus,  si  bussolano  and  si  notano  i  voti  and 
the  six  with  most  votes  are  written  in  a  note  and  carried  to  the 
Viceroy  (by  8  persons  chosen  by  ballot  out  of  the  58),  who  names 
which  he  pleases  for  eletto.  The  58  likewise  name  a  council  of 
ten  persons  to  assist  their  eletto.  Every  ottina  likewise  names 
6  persons,  whereof  the  Viceroy  chooseth  one  for  capitano  of  that 
ottina,  who  is  a  sort  of  justice  of  peace,  taking  care  that  no  one 
offends  or  is  offended  in  his  ottina,  take  care  of  the  poor,  6cc.  j 
great  power  commanding  50  great  a  people. 

Capitani  and  clelti  del  popolo  govern  as  long  as  the  Viceroy  or 
the  Piazza  pleases,  but  ordinarily  for  6  months. 

The  power  of  the  Tribunal  of  the  eletti  extends  to  setting  a 
price  on  the  annona;  take  care  also  of  the  health,  for  which  they 
appoint  two  deputies,  one  a  noble  the  other  a  plebeian,  who 
govern  a  felucca  that  visits  all  ships,  boats,  6cc.,  and  sees  that 
□othing  contagious  enters  the  city.  The  eletti  themselves  pay 
a  salary  to  these,  and  give  out  patents  for  ships  parting  from 
Naples,  as  likewise  pay  the  man  who  watches  to  see  the  quaran- 
tine duly  performed  and  goods  aired. 

The  Grassiero  is  a  huomo  Regio,  or  magistrate  appointed  by  the 
King.  He  was  first  joined  to  the  council  of  the  eletti  in  a.d.  1562, 
in  the  time  of  the  Viceroy  Don  Pcrafan  di  Ribera,  Duke  d'  Alcaik, 
under  the  pretext  only  of  providing  the  city  with  corn,  but  by 
little  and  little  hath  crept  into  all  business,  and  now  in  fact  is 
president  of  the  Tribunal  of  the  eletti,  who  can  do  nothing  with- 
out him. 


4 
I 


574  Journal  of  a 

Divers  other  tribunals  or  courts  of  lesser  note^  as  la  Zecca  Regia 
per  Pesi  et  Misure,  per  li  Notari,  per  Dottori  in  L^ge  et  Mcdi- 
cina,  &c.,  &c. 

A  parliament  or  deputation  of  24  persons,  12  deputati  del 
Baronaggio  and  1 2  della  citk  di  Napoli,  give  a  donative,  for  which 
eflfect  use  to  be  assembled  by  King's  letter  every  a  years.  The 
city  pays  no  part  of  these  donatives,  yet  the  deputies  rf  the  dty 
are  the  first  to  vote,  and  subscribe,  and  have  precedence  in  all 
cases,  but  with  this  difference,  that  the  city  hath  but  one  vote  and 
the  Baronaggio  12,  6  titolatos  and  6  plain  barons.  Their  use  the 
Donative.  These  deputies  or  parliament  meet  in  the  convent  of 
S.  Lorenzo;  the  Viceroy  at  the  opening  goes  to  hear  read  the 
King's  letter  before  the  parliament  by  the  Secretary  of  State,  and 
at  the  close  goes  to  receive  their  compliance  with  it. 

Giulio  Cesare  Capaccio  assures  us  that  in  his  time  the  garden 
herbs  eaten  every  month  amounted  to  30,000  ducats  in  the  city  of 
Naples ;  likewise  that  the  gabella  on  fruit  (it  not  being  ^  of  a 
farthing  per  pound  of  our  measure  and  money)  amounted  or  (whidi 
is  more)  was  set  for  80,000  ducats  per  annum,  exclusive  of  oranges, 
lemons,  bergamots,  and  the  like. 

Four  castles  in  Naples  to  protect  and  bridle  the  city : — Castcl 
St.  Elmo,  Castel  Nuovo,  Castel  dell'  Ovo,  and  II  Torrione  del 
Carmine. 

Si  ricavavano  prima  dal  regno  5  milioni  e  piu  di  rendita,  oggi 
perd  se  ne  ritrahe  da  due  millioni  in  circa.  Pacichello,  published 
1703. 

The  nobility  of  the  several  parts  or  districts  of  the  city  of 
Naples  were  used  anciently  to  assemble  in  certain  public  places  or 
piazTas  in  each  district,  where  they  conversed  together.  These 
places  being  much  frequented,  they  came  to  build  certain  open 
porticos,  sustained  by  arches  and  railed  round,  where  they  met 
together,  which  in  process  were  improved  and  beautified  in  imi- 
tation of  the  portici  of  the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans,  and 
separated  or  appropriated  to  those  families  that  used  to  assemble 
in  them;  and  from  being  places  of  mere  chat  or  conversation, 
grew  to  be  so  many  courts,  in  which  they  considered  and  debated  on 
choosing  magistrates  and  providing  for  the  health  and  plenty  of  the 
city.  The  Seggios  are  five.  N.B.  The  Se^ios  are  five,  viz.  il  S  *ggio 
di  Capoana,  di  Nido,  di  Montagna,  di  Porto,  di  Porta  nuova. 


Tour  in  Italy. 


575 


Virginis  in  Ecclesia  S.  Ludovici  apud  P.P.  minimos  S" 
rancisci  a  Paulo  asservatum  liquefit  quolibet  assumptionis  die. 
Sanguis  Johannis  Baptista:  liquefit  quotidie  in  ccclcsifi  quAdam 
Irapoli  prout  mihi  referebat  Dux  quidam  Neapolitanus. 
Sbirri  ijo  tyrannized  the  island  of  Ischia  cruelly,  on  account 
F  seven  persons  who  had  slain  one  of  their  number.  The  re- 
itions  to  the  number  of  lOO  taken  up  and  imprisoned  at  Ischia; 
;neral  orders  that  no  one  remain  in  their  houses  in  the  country, 
U  with  their  goods  being  obliged  to  repair  to  the  towns;  people 
ict  in  the  massi^rias  beaten  unmercifully.  Fear  and  trembling, 
i  no  going  to  do  their  business  in  their  vineyards  for  lo  days, 
icn  allowed  to  return,  some  to  their  houses,  others  not.  Cellars 
f  wine  throughout  the  island  all  this  while  left  wide  open  at  the 
lercy  of  the  Sbirri.  Relations  of  the  banditti  seized  in  the 
lurches.  Some  few,  many  of  the  prisoners  allowed  the  liberty 
f  walking  about  the  fortress.  The  prisoners  most  part  poor  old 
romen,  the  men  absconding  and  lying  out  of  their  houses  in  the 
(roods  for  fear.  Commissario  della  Campagna,  with  his  Sbirri, 
mtinued  about  a  month  at  Ischia.  The  inhabitants  may  kill 
oe  another  without  fear  of  punishment,  this  rout  being  never 
idc  but  for  the  death  of  a  Sbirri.  We  were  alarmed  and  roused 
tit  of  our  beds  by  35  Sbirri  one  night. 

The  people  of  this  island  in  other  respects  good  enough,  but 
doodthirsty  and  revengeful.  Those  of  Foria  and  Moropane  of 
rorst  fame  for  murdering,  being  said  by  the  rest  of  the  island  to 
lave  no  fear  of  God  or  man. 

The  habit  of  the  Ischiots:  a  blue  skutl-cap,  woollen;  a  shirt 
jid  pair  of  drawers;  in  cold  weather,  doublet  and  breeches  of  wool, 
rhey  wear  each  by  his  side  a  broad  pruning-knife,  crooked  at  the 
[nd,  with  which  they  frequently  wound  and  kill  one  another, 

I^no  now  Pieio,  Casa  Nizzola    now  Casamici,   Fiorio  now 
?ori2. 
A  fine  plain  all  round  Pieio,  planted  with  vines,  corn,  and  fruit 


The  amphitheatre  about  a  mile  and  half  round  the  top,  whence 
1  alt  sides  a  shelving  bank  descends  to  the  flat  bottom,  the  which 
tank  clothed  with  oaks.  Oaks,  elms,  chesnuts,  and  cupe  [?]  in  this 
island.  East  of  the  amphitheatre  (which  is  called  La  Vataliera 
iilgarly)  is  a  village  called  Cumana,  and  beneath  a  shady  valley 


576  yournal  of  a 

called  11  Valione  Cumana,  between  that  village  (seated  on  a  moon* 
tain  called  II  Monte  di  Borano)  and  a  high  mountain  called  La 
Montagna  di  Vezzi. 

Pleasant  vineyards  overlooking  Iscbia  on  the  middle  between 
the  two  towns. 

On  the  north  side  of  the  Cremate,  about  a  mile  long  and  i 
broad,  fine  hills  covered  with  myrtle  and  lentiscus;  vales  too 
among  them,  and  towards  the  sea  fruitfiil  with  vines,  &c.  Hcrc^ 
abouts  Pontanus  formerly  had  a  villa.  Onwards  to  the  north-west 
you  pass  through  roads  planted  with  myrtle,  &c.,  vinejrards,  and 
little  inequalities  of  hill,  vale,  wood,  shrub,  &c.  to  the  lake,  about 
a  mile  round,  on  the  border  of  which  the  Bagno  di  Fontana. 

Vistas  in  the  island  very  various,  as  sometimes  in  a  plain  thick 
planted  with  trees  and  vines,  obstmcting  a  distant  view ;  at  other 
times  a  patent  prospect  in  a  vale  environed  with  fruitful  hills,  on 
which  white  houses  scattered.  Borano  with  its  steeple  makes  a 
pretty  prospect,  being  situate  on  a  hill.  Sometimes  a  deep  road 
with  high  banks  on  either  side,  very  refreshing  in  the  heats; 
sometimes  deep  and  tremendous  precipices,  many  round  hills 
gently  rising,  covered  to  the  top  with  vines;  sometimes  horrid 
rocks  and  grottoes,  and  clefts  in  the  earth  with  bridges  over  them 
in  some  places. 

The  bath  Ulmitello  lies  to  the  south  part  of  the  island  in  a  deep 
cleft  between  rocks,  which  opens  into  the  strand  of  the  sea ;  it  is 
a  well  or  two  without  buildings. 

South  of  Testanio  there  is  a  strange  confusion  of  rocks,  hills, 
vales,  clefts,  plains,  and  vineyards  one  above  another,  jumbled 
together  in  a  very  singular  and  romantic  manner. 

North  or  north-west  stands  the  Sudatorio  di  Castiglione  in  the 
side  of  a  rock,  on  which  Jasolino  tells  you  may  be  seen  the  ruins  of 
a  castle  since  the  days  of  Hiero.  I  saw  some  ruins  of  an  old  wall, 
but  nothing  that  looked  like  Greek  or  Roman  work,  the  stones 
and  cement  being  but  rude.  I  saw  likewise  the  ruins  of  a  piscina, 
or  receptacle  for  water,  well  plastered.  Between  this  rock  and  the 
sea,  in  the  vale,  lies  Casa  Cumana,  a  small  village  where  Jasolin 
thinks  the  Euboeans  first  inhabited.  Near  the  sea-shore,  likewise 
in  the  vale,  I  saw  the  Bagno  di  Castiglione. 

Two  eletti  in  the  city  of  Ischia  officers  of  the  city  supreme. 
When  they  go  out  of  office  they  name  each  two  candidates,  out  of 


Tour  in  Italy. 


57? 


1  the  eletti  del  popolo  for  next  year  are  chosen  by  the  parla- 
nto,  consisting  of  twenty  persons,  lo  countrymen,  ten  citizens, 
e  which  parliament  is  new  made  reciprocally  by  the  eletti  as 
&n  as  they  come  into  employment.  This  parliament  consults  of 
Ings  relating  to  the  well  governing  the  town,  assessing  taxes. 
In  Furia  they  have  a  syndic  for  supreme  magistrate,  likewise 
icn  by  the  people;  there  is  another  syndic  between  Borano  and 
Witana,  one  year  in  Borano,  and  names  a  deputato  to  govern  in 
ntaoa,  and  vke  versd.  This  magistrate  sets  prices  on  meat, 
ad,  corn,  wine,  6cc.  Catapani  are  inferior  officers  that  go  about 
;  sbops  inspecting  bread,  wine,  measures.  Sec.  So  far  Signer 
iam.  Battista. 

Jachino  and  Aniele  say  that  once  only  in  three  years  the  syndic 
to  each  of  the  3  following  towns — Fontana,  Borano,  Casamici, 
C  syndic  sending  two  deputati  to  the  other  places.  Twenty  men 
nstitute  the  senate  of  each  of  these  3  towns,  and  Furia,  which 
I  constantly  its  own  syndic.  These  all  vote  for  the  eletti  of 
chia,  who  (if  I  mistake  not)  reciprocally  make  the  syndics. 
Several  gentlemen  of  Ischia  taken  up  and  sent,  some  to  be  im- 
isoned  at  Naples,  others  at  Surrento,  others  at  Caprca,  at  the 
me  time  that  near  300  were  imprisoned  as  relations  of  the  ban- 
L  in  the  castle  of  Ischia.  These  gentlemen  were  taken  up  on 
^icion  of  having  favoured  somehow  the  flight  or  concealment 
'  them.  Among  the  rest  some  of  the  eletti,  Don  Francesco 
lenghi,  and  Don   Domenico  Riufrcschi,  a  man  of  great  note, 

e  confined  in  their  houses, 
'South-west  of  the  island,  on  the  sea-shore  near  the  Castle  of 
Angelo,  is  the  Arena  of  S.  Angelo,  as  also  a  hot  bath.  In 
me  places  a  smoke  and  sulphureous  smell  issues  from  the  sand ; 
others,  making  a  hole,  there  suddenly  issues  out  hot  water,  which 
a  little  time  boils  eggs,  beans,  or  other  things  for  the  peasants. 
Natale  saith  there  are  forty  in  the  parliament  of  Iscliia,  as 
any  constitute  that  of  Furia,  20  in  the  others.  The  eletti  and 
ndics  arc  proposed  by  the  Marquis  del  Vasto  or  his  Castellano, 
wbic   to   the   respective   parliaments,   who   choose   which  they 

The  parliament  men  for  life ;  judge  changed  once  3  year. 
Ischia,  Campagnano,  Pieio,  Cumana,  Testanio,  Boranoy  Fon- 

Moropane,  Pansa,  Furia,  Casamici,  Cuia. 
VOL,  IV,  p  p 


578  yaurnal  of  a 

Inhabitants  of  Fontana  keep  flocks  of  sheep  and  goats.  Lover 
parts  of  Mont  S.  Nicolo  clothed  with  vines;  upper  part  fntk 
barley,  wheat,  and  Indian  corn ;  top  naked  and  white.  FoDtaat 
situate  among  oak  trees.  Narrow,  deep  vales,  like  cracks  in  tlMS 
earth  cloven  by  an  earthquake,  as  appears  by  the  opposite  sides 
tallying,  as  also  from  their  shape :  a  bridge  over  one  of  these. 

Furia  in  a  plain  situate  at  a  comer  of  the  island^  having  a 
sort  of  mole  and  harbour ;  the  country  about  it  full  of  vines  aad 
fruit  trees.  Some  rough  land  and  ups  and  downs  between  ^ 
and  Lo  Lacco.  This  last  town  and  Casamici  situate  among  vines 
and  fruit  trees,  after  which  hills  covered  with  myrtles  and  les* 
tiscus,  glens,  groves  of  chesnuts,  8cc. 

The  clergy  of  Ischia  get  each  a  Caroline  a  mass;  the  parish 
priest  is  not  allowed  to  say  above  one  mass  a  day;  admits  others 
into  share  of  the  profits  arising  from  masses  for  the  dead. 

The  number  of  the  cleigy  in  Ischia  accounted  for  by  tbdr 
lodging  the  goods  of  the  family  in  the  name  and  under  the  pro* 
tection  of  the  priest,  who  in  case  of  murder  or  the  like  criines 
secures  them  from  forfeiture.  The  bishop  admits  none  to  ordas 
who  is  not  invested  first  with  the  sum  of  700  ducats. 

^Pontificum  collegium  usque  ad  Theodosii  senioris  tempora  Roios 
fiiit.  Quibus  uno  edicto  sacerdotum  omnium  reditus  fisco  appli- 
cati  sunt.'     Zosimus. 

Fat  quails  in  Ischia  sold  for  3  farthings  a  piece  ;  these  brought 
by  wind  from  Africa  hither  and  to  Caprea,  whose  bishop's  revenue, 
consisting  mostly  of  quails,  is  uncertain  as  the  wind. 

Women  imprisoned  at  Ischia  as  relations  of  the  banditti  after 
divers  weeks  set  free  at  five  ducats  a  head. 

Quinces  also  and  medlars  in  the  island ;  and,  among  other  fruits 
unknown  to  us,  two  deserving  note  particularly,  viz.  lazzanioli 
and  suorli. 

The  inhabitants  make  a  good  deal  of  money  out  oS,  dried  fig^ 
and  uvse  passae. 

Confraternity  of  100  persons  in  Testanio.  When  any  one  of 
these  dies,  a  hundred  masses  are  said  for  his  soul  at  the  eicpense  of 
the  society,  it  being  a  Caroline  a  mass.  The  like  fraternities  all 
over  the  island,  as  well  as  everywhere  else  in  Italy.  The  pari^ 
priest's  fee  is  7  carlines  a  death,  a  hen  a  birth,  15  carlines  a  mar- 
riage.   On  New  Year's  day,  Easter  day,  'Corpus  Christi  day,  he 


T&ur  in  Italy. 

ndglgepces,  and  all  that  are  worth  money  bring 
41  these  occasions  according  to  their  ability. 

Mem.  The  celebration  of  St.  George's  (the  patron  of  Testanio) 
lay  and  other  festivals. 

Women's  ornaments  large  ^Id  earrings,  and  if  married,  manjr 
large  gold  rings  set  with  false  stones  on  their  fingers;  but  the 
principal  linery  consists  in  the  apron,  particoloured  and  em- 
broidered with  tinsel,  Sec, ;  these  worn  only  on  holidays,  no  more 
1  the  rings. 

Tlie  Ischiots  likewise  make  presents  of  their  wine  and  corn, 
6k.  to  the  church,  for  supplying  wax  candles  and  keeping  it  in 
repair. 

At  certain  times  laymen  go  about  begging  money  for  buying 
wax  candles.  Meeting  them  once  on  a  time,  1  asked  them  for 
whom  they  sought  charity.  A  woman  standing  by  said, '  For  Jesus 
Christ.' 

Not  3  beggar  to  be  seen  in  the  island,  except  now  and  then  a 
poor  foreigner  that  comes  to  the  baths. 

No  stories  or  notions  of  ghosts  among  the  common  people. 

In  marriages  of  Ischiots,  the  wedding-day,  the  relations  of  the 
,  brothers,  sisters,  6ec.,  accompany  her  to  the  bridegroom's 
:bouse  (her  father  and  mother  excepted,  who  always  stay  at  home) ; 
having  left  her  there,  they  return  to  the  house  of  the  bride's  father 
and  there  sup,  as  the  relations  of  the  bridegroom  do  at  his  house. 
Next  morning  relations  of  both  parties  bring  presents  of  hemp, 
napkins,  shirts,  utensils  for  the  house,  &c.  neatly  done  up  in 
baskets,  to  the  house  of  the  bridegroom,  where  they  are  treated  all 
that  day  at  dinner. 

In  burials  the  fraternities  accompany  the  corpse ;  nearest  rela- 
tions mourn  a  month,  not  shaving  their  beards  for  so  long. 

Burrhi  ]J\  the  chemist  told  Sealy  he  could  do  the  miracle  of 
St.  Januarius'  blood, 

This  Sealy  is  a  lively  old  man  that  has  eat  2000  vipers.  I  have 
seen  him  eat  them  raw  and  moving. 

*Si  quis  piorum  manJbus  locus;  si,  ut  sapientibus  placet,  non 
cum  corpore  extinguuntur  magnx  animse ;  placide  quiescas,  nosque 
domuni  tuam  ab  infirmo  desiderio  et  muliebribus  lamentis  ad  con- 
templationem  virtutum  tuarum  voces,'  &c.  Tacitus,  In  Vita  jigri. 
tot*-  N.B.  This  like  papists  praying  to  the  dead, 
rpi 


580  youmal  of  a 

N.B.  The  description  given  of  the  Bonzi  in  Japan  by  MafieiaS 
(lib.  I  a)  agrees  to  the  Jesuits  exactly,  there  being  no  sudi  power- 
ful and  crafty  institution  among  the  old  Romans  as  may  serve  to 
match  them  or  be  drawn  into  parallel. 

3  or  400  ducats  a  common  portion  for  a  woman  in  Ischia. 

Sept  7.  N.S.  1 71 7. 

Between  5  and  six  in  the  morning  it  began  to  thunder,  and 
continued  without  a  moment's  intermission  in  one  peal  for  the 
space  of  above  an  hour,  during  which  time  the  south  sky  seemed 
all  on  fire. 

Quails  said  to  be  met  in  great  numbers  on  the  sea,  swimming 
with  one  wing  up  for  a  sail. 

The  demoniacs  of  S.  Andrea  della  Valle  something  like  the 
foaming  priestesses  or  mad  Bacchanals  among  the  ancients. 

Mem.  To  consult  V.  Maximus  for  parallels  to  the  Churdi  of 
Rome. 

Oranges,  lemons,  olives,  and  medlars  likewise  grow  in  the  island 
of  Ischia. 

Near  relations,  as  son  e.g.,  on  the  death  of  his  father  abstains 
two  days  from  all  nourishment,  even  a  piece  of  bread  or  sup  of 
wine  j  nothing  but  a  cup  of  water. 

Ischiots'  linen  all  made  of  hemp. 

*  Urbe  capta  a  Gallis,  virgines  vestales  pedibus  abeuntes  L. 
Albinius  in  plaustrum  recipit  depositis  inde  uxore  et  liberis.' 
Thinking  of  the  English  merchant  at  Leghorn  who  left  his  mother 
out  of  his  will  to  leave  all  to  the  Jesuits  or  friars,  puts  me  in  mind 
of  this. 

Sunday  morning,  Sept.  19.  N.S. 

Fair  weather,  without  rain,  wind  or  thunder;  saw  three  flashes 
of  lightning  come  into  the  chamber. 

Children  now,  as  formerly,  brought  to  the  temple  of  Romulus 
and  Remus.    Abbate  Barbiere. 

Roman  matrons,  near  200,  condemned  for  poisoning  many  prin- 
cipal persons  of  the  city,  anno  U.  C.  424,  of  which  thing  saith  Livy, 
'Prodigii  ea  res  loco  habita:  captisque  magis  mentibus  quam  con- 
sceleratis  similis  visa.* 


Tour  in  Italy. 


58» 


dictator  made  for  striking  a  nail  in  the  wall  of  Jupiter's  temple. 
B.  if  nothing  like.this  in  the  Roman  Church. 
*  Volsci  Pontias,  insulam  sitam  in  conspectu  litoris  sui,  incolu- 
ant."  L.  9.  d.  i. 

Mem,  To  consult  Dionysius  Hallicarn.  of  the  Roman  religious 
tcs,  and  A.  Gellius  and  Plutarch. 

The  Holy  Scriptures,  as  formerly  the  books  of  the  Sybils,  made 
secret.  The  oracles  of  SybiJJa  Cumana  were  kept  in  a  stone 
icst  in  a  cellar  under  the  temple  of  Jupiter  Capitolinus,  inspected 
lly  by  the  QuJndecimviri  in  cases  of  sedition,  loss  of  battles,  pro- 
gics,  or  the  like,  when  they  directed  how  to  proceed  in  expiating 
£  gods.  Livy,  Dionysius,  &c.  Before  the  15  there  were  ten ;  and 
ifore  them,  two,  Livy,  speaking  of  the  Decemviri  sacris  facJun- 
B,  calls  them  'Carminum  Sibyll*  ac  fatorum  populi  Romani  In- 
iprctcs.' 

Secuiare  carmen,  &c.  and  the  Jubilee, 
Both  honour  their  deities  with  fine  statues. 
Both  worship  them  with  plays.     Fireworks,  music   meetings, 
Mnedies,   letting  off  guns,  are   reckoned    fine   devotions  in  the 
burch  of  Rome,  not  omitting  gaudy  decorations  of  their  churches, 
issibly  somewhat  like  lectisterniums  1^. 

Qu.  whether  as  incense,  so  wax  candles,  were  used  by  the  hea- 
ens. 

The  leaves  of  myrtle  and  lentiscus  dried  and  sent  to  the  tanners 
Naples.  Qu.  about  this,  and  whether  there  may  not  a  like  use 
(  made  of  leaves  in  England. 

Road  between  the  lake  and  Ischia  lying  through  the  remains  of 
options.  The  stones  1  saw  among  these  remains,  particularly 
05C  worn  under  foot,  confirm  the  streets  of  Naples  being  paved 
ith  the  matter  of  eruptions. 

Strabo  (lib.  5)  saith  Procita  was  anciently  broken  off  from  Ischia : 
Bt  the  Eretrians  and  Chalcedonians  (or  people  of  Chalcis)  were 
iliged  to  quit  Ischia  by  earthquakes  and  eruptions  of  fire,  of 
bich,  saith  he,  there  are  many  in  the   island;   the  same  also 


[Ob  the  oppmile  p»ge  Berltilty  wrilei 
:— ^  N.B.  About  live  yeics  (incc,  or  leu. 
Ltttlqobn  vu  picient  at  a  reprucn- 
IB  of  oar  Sarinur't  pinion  al  the  Palace 
t  wai  I  comedy.  hoTridl)'  ridi- 
Al  Jndaa  acted  belt,  they     ' 


582  youmal  of  a 

obliged  persons  sent  by  Hiero  to  quit  a  building  they  had  begun. 
Hence  the  £stble  of  Typhosus  lying  ufiidemeath  it.  He  quotes 
Pindar  as  being  of  opinion  that  the  whole  tract  of  Italy,  being  from 
Cumae^  and  so  on  to  Sicily,  is  hollowed  underground  with  great 
caverns  corresponding  with  each  other.  Hence  iEtna,  Vesuvius^ 
Solfatara,  Ischia,  Liparean  Islands  burn,  and  that  therefore  he 
feigned  Typhoeus  to  be  under  that  tract.  He  likewise  quotes 
Timeus  for  horrible  eruptions  and  earthquakes  from  Monte  Epomeo, 
which  caused  even  the  inhabitants  on  the  coast  of  the  continent  to 
withdraw  with  fright  into  the  midland  parts  of  Campania.  So  ftr 
Strabo. 

Pliny  (lib.  3.  c.  6)  saith  Ischia  was  called  ^naria,  from  the  good 
reception  or  station  iEneas'  ships  met  with  there ;  and  Pythecusz, 
from  the  Greek  Pythos,  signifying  an  earthen  pitcher  or  sort  of 
earthen  vessel. 

Ovid,  Metam.  1.  14: — 

<Inarimen  Prochytamque  l^it  sterilique  locatas 
CoUe  Pythecusas;* 

where  Pythecusae  and  Inarime  are  plainly  distinguished,  the  former 
seeming  to  signify  only  the  town  on  the  rock. 

Mem.  To  consult  Lucan  (lib.  5),  and  likewise  for  the  Island 
Ischia. 

It  is  observable  that  Livy  too  distinguishes  iSnaria  from  Pythe- 
cusae.  The  same  passage  (1.  8.  d.  i)  of  Livy  makes  the  Euboeans 
to  have  inhabited  Ischia  before  Cuma,  which  Strabo  says  was  the 
oldest  city  in  Italy  or  Sicily.  Hence  Ischia  the  most  anciently 
inhabited. 

Aloes  and  Indian  figs  grow  wild  in  several  parts  of  the  island, 
at  least  the  aloes  grow  wild ;  likewise  dates,  almonds,  walnuts. 

The  vista  irom  S.  Nicolo.  South — Caprea,  and  mountains  be- 
yond the  Bay  of  Salerno.  South-east — Promontory  of  Minerva, 
and  beyond  that  the  Cape  of  Palinurus,  vulg.  Capo  di  Palinuro, 
Massa,  Vico,  Surrento,  Castelmare,  all  on  the  side  of  a  chain  of 
mountains.  East  —  Vivaro,  Procita,  Miseno,  Baiae,  Pozxuolo, 
Pausilypo,  top  of  Naples  or  S.  Elmo,  Vesuvius.  North-east— 
Cuma.  North — Campania  Felice,  being  to  the  sea,  a  large  plain 
on  the  other  side  bounded  by  mountains.  North-west — Monte 
Massici  (as  I  suppose),  Mola,  Caieta,  a  small  isle,  &c.,  as  far  as 


I 


Tour  in  Italy.  583 

the  promontory  of  Retium.  West — ^Ponsa,  and  two  smaller  isles 
more.    South-west — ^the  sea. 

In  the  fortress  of  Ischia,  entrance  cut  through  a  rock;  false 
stairs;  garrison  no;  nunnery;  pretty  cathedral,  dean;  ornaments 
in  stucco,  paintings  so  so;  bishop's  palace;  prisoners  obliged  to 
buy  the  masserix  of  the  banditti,  and  pay  besides  5  or  6  crowns  a 
head.  Dates  and  walnuts  in  the  island  of  Ischia.  Vivaro  hath 
some  vines,  a  world  of  pheasants  a  mile  and  \  round.  Procita 
7  miles  round ;  eight  or  ten  thousand  souls ;  8000  butts  of  wine 
the  worst  year,  sometimes  15000  or  more;  yields  the  Marquis  del 
Vasto  4000  ducats  per  annum,  besides  free  gifts  of  3  or  4000 
ducats  now  and  then ;  the  latter  sum  was  given  by  the  University 
(as  they  term  it)  on  his  returning  from  making  a  great  expense  at 
Vienna.  200  feluccas  or  small  boats ;  50  tartans  20.  What  they  make 
in  all  of  wine,  fruits,  and  fish,  amounts  to  about  160,000  ducats 
per  annum.  Clergy  160,  secular,  whereof  120  parish  priests;  like- 
wise a  Dominican  convent;  subject  all  to  the  Archbishop  of 
Naples.  Pklace  of  the  Marquis  on  the  east  or  north-east  point, 
rising,  lai^e,  regular,  handsome,  unfurnished ;  not  lived  in  by  the 
Marquis  since  Philip  got  possession  of  Naples;  he,  being  of  the 
other  party,  then  left  the  kingdom,  and  since  lived  at  Vasto;  little 
garden  of  myrtles  and  jessamines  belonging  to  it.  Fine  view,  the 
whole  one  vineyard ;  masserise  enclosed  with  stone  walls ;  houses 
thick  like  a  suburb  to  a  town.  Heights  at  two  ends,  east  and  west ; 
on  the  latter  a  ruin,  on  the  former  the  castle,  and  within  that  the 
palace. 

Harbour  between  Monte  di  Procita  and  Miseno.  At  the  end  of 
Pausilypo  Nisita,  where  M.  Brutus,  about  a  mile  round,  hath 
a  castle  and  2  or  3  houses ;  is  thick  planted  with  olives.  Grottoes 
in  the  side  of  Pausilypo.  VirgiFs  school  an  ancient  brick  ruin ; 
divers  other  fragments  of  brick  ruin.  (N.B.  The  first  remarks 
belong  to  the  further  end  of  Pausilypo.)  Palaces  along  the  side  or 
foot  of  Pausilypo;  the  hill  all  along  crowned  with  villas,  villages, 
vines,  and  fruit  trees.  Pausilypo,  Baix,  &c.  all  crack  and  broken 
in  the  surface,  as  if  shaken  to  pieces. 

Since  I  came  to  Naples,  a  person  formerly  a  waterman  who  tugged 
at  the  oar  bought  a  dukedom ;  he  is  now  Duca  di  Lungano.    This 

*  \TcartaMy  a  kind  of  ihip.] 


584  youmal  of  a 

I  had  as  certain  from  the  English  Consul.  Valetta  and  the  (Hic 
reckon  but  %  millions  in  the  kingdom  of  Na{des^  and  not  above 
five  millions  in  Italy,  a  4th  in  the  city  flying  thither  from  the  op- 
pression of  the  barons  who  rule  the  country. 

The  ashes  on  an  altar  in  the  south  of  Italy  which  no  wind  could 
stir.  Livy. 

The  Hebrew  and  Saint  in  Genoa. 

The  holy  water  fright  in  Leghorn. 

After  all  it  may  be  said  that  the  greater  part  of  the  cereiiKxiics 
and  customs  borrowed  from  the  heathens  are  harmless.  I  agree, 
indeed,  that  the  innovations  of  their  own  making  are  more  mis- 
chievous than  the  adopted  ones. Their  vestals  were  not 

enough  to  thin  a  country  j  their  colleges  of  augurs^  &c  did  nol 
swarm  as  modern  friars;  they  had  no  order  to  parallel  with  the 
Jesuits.  Modern  Rome  hath  inventions  of  her  own  worse  than 
the  old,  and  withal  hath  encberi  upon  the  old. 

Solfatara  pays  700  crowns  per  annum  to  the  Asinunciata,  and  60 
to  the  Bishop  of  Pozzuolo. 

Pontanus  (1. 6)  will  have  it  that  Ischia  was  torn  by  an  earthquake 
from  the  continent,  the  land  being  like  the  Campania  Felice  ia 
fertility. 

Nat.  Comes,  in  Fabula  de  Typhone,  saith  that  Ischia  is  most 
abundant  and  fertile^  and  rich  in  mines  of  gold ;  the  same  saitb 
Jasolino  himself. 

Partenope  (now  called  Venlotiene)  on  the  west  of  Ischia,  sea  on 
the  south  and  south-west,  Caprea  south-east,  Surrento  east,  Procita 
and  Naples,  &c.  north-east,  Campagna  Felice  north. 

Contiene  (Ischia)  promontorii,  valli,  piani,  fonti,  fiumi,  laghi, 
penisole,  isthmi,  monti,  bellissimi  giardini  e  copia  di  suavi  e  deli- 
cati  frutti,  vini  perfetti  di  piu  sorti,  gran  copia  di  cedri,  aranci  e 
limoni,  e  miniere  d'oro  come  ambe  dire  Strabone[?]. 

Giovianus  Pontanu*  had  a  villa  near  the  ruins  of  the  confla- 
gration, as  Jasolino  saith,  but  I  could  hear  nothing  of  it  now. 

Between  the  Cremate  and  Casamici  mounts  covered  with  myrtle 
and  other  shrubs. 

Near  the  Sudatorio  di  Castiglione  a  vale  in  Jasolino's  time,  called 
Negroponte. 

Alum  in  the  island  of  Ischia. 

Monte  and  Castello  di  S.  Angelo  in  una  penisola. 


Tour  in  Italy.  585 

Fonte  di  Nitroli.    The  aqueduct  that  conveys  the  watef  of 
Biiceto  5  miles,  from  near  the  top  of  Epomeus  to  Ischia  town. 
.    Jasolino  first  printed  in  1588. 

V.  Plinium,  1.  3.  c.  6;  and  I*  5*  c.  31 ;  and  1.  31.  c.  2. 

II  fountains  of  firesh  and  35  of  hot  medicinal  waters  are  reck- 
oned in  Ischia. 

A  foolish  custom  of  taking  the  baths  and  stufe  an  odd  number  of 
times. 

.  The  baths  of  Ischia  not  so  useful  in  the  bissextile  years.  This 
Jasolino  affirms  from  his  own  observation,  quoting,  like  Savonarola, 
Baccio  &c.  for  the  same  opinion. 

It  is  usual  to  purge  before  the  baths  or  stufe,  to  stay  half  an  hour 
in  the  bath,  and  sweat  half  an  hour  after  in  the  bed. 

Baths  make  one  thirsty,  and  are  apt  to  give  the  headache  to  those 
who  are  ever  subject  to  it. 

During  the  baths  beware  of  cold,  use  meats  that  are  nourishing 
and  easy  of  digestion,  abstain  from  sleep  by  day,  water  your  wine 
well,  go  to  stool  before  you  take  the  bath,  be  merry ;  in  certain 
baths  'tis  good  to  wash  wounds. 

A  piece  of  a  sword,  two  fingers  broad  and  a  span  long,  passed 
between  the  ist  rib  and  the  jugular  bone  through  the  cavity  of  the 
thorax  and  the  point  between  the  8th  and  9th  rib  behind.  This 
piece  (thought  to  have  been  lost  in  the  sand  or  sea)  remained 
a  year  and  17  days  in  the  body  of  a  Napolitan  gentleman,  whence 
it  was  extracted  (after  many  terrible  symptoms)  by  Jasolino,  and 
the  party  re-established  by  the  baths  of  Gurgitello  and  Fontana. 
The  same  baths  probably  enabled  him  to  live  so  long  with  that 
iron  in  his  body,  the  wound  having  been  made  in  Ischia  and  the 
baths  applied. 

B.  di  Fornello  good  for  the  ague,  spleen  (or  rather  disorders  in 
the  spleen) ;  good  for  obstinate,  deep,  and  sinuous  ulcers,  dropsy, 
headache ;  breaks  the  stone,  draws  away  sand,  opens  the  bladder, 
helps  in  the  gout,  takes  away  nauseating  of  stomach. 

B.  di  Fontana  heals  wounds,  draws  out  iron^  good  for  lungs  and 
liver,  cures  the  mange  or  psora,  makes  the  hair  fair  and  long, 
restores  wasted  persons,  draws  out  fragments  of  bones. 

B.  di  Gurgitello  cures  barrenness,  repairs  the  consumed,  strength- 
ens the  stomach,  breaks  the  stone,  good  for  the  liver,  cleans  the 
psora,  incites  an  appetite,  draws  out  iron. 


586  yournal  of  a 

B.  degli  denti  et  degli  occhi  vicine  di  Gurgitello. 

B.  d*  Ulmitello  is  good  for  the  arthritis,  tenesmus^  gravel,  choliq 
ophthalmia,  asthma,  palpitation,  ague,  itch,  leprosy,  deafness,  folks 
disordered  in  lungs  or  spleen. 

B.  di  Succellano,  now  called  B.  della  Regna,  is  good  for  scab, 
lengthens  the  hair,  clears  women's  complexion,  is  profitable  to  die 
bladder^  eases  tenesmus  and  ague. 

B.  di  piaxzia  Romana  takes  away  itching  of  the  eyes,  stops  the 
running  of  tears,  strengthens  the  eyes,  porges  bile,  stops  a  cou^ 
fastens  hair,  preventing  its  falling,  cures  broken  1<^« 

Sud.  di  Castiglione  good  for  the  arthritis,  colic,  mal  del  fianco^ 
hysterical  fits,  gout,  dropsy,  palsy,  weakness  of  limbs  ;  lightens  the 
body,  cures  disorders  of  the  liver,  as  when  redness  in  the  cheeb^ 
cures  scab,  itch,  morphea,  &c. ;  comforts  the  heart,  gives  an  app^ 
tite,  helps  digestion,  is  good  for  the  vertigo,  sores  in  palate,  jaws^ 
and  gums,  and  nostrils. 

S.  di  S.  Laurenzo  at  Casamid  good  for  arthritis,  dropsy,  &c 

S.  di  Testonio,  a  hole  in  the  ground,  about  4  foot  deep  and  3 
wide,  sending  forth  a  vapour  sulphureous  with  some  tincture  d 
nitre^  calcanthus,  and  bitumen.  This  found  on  examining  it  hf 
a  glass  bell  by  Jasolino. 

This  milder  than  other  sudatives,  which  frequently  cause  faint- 
ings;  good  for  softening  le  parti  indurite,  for  evacuating  the 
whole  body  by  sweat;  lightens  the  body,  dries  internal  wounds; 
good  for  the  doglia  del  fianco,  for  hysterical  fits  and  the  dropsy, 
taken  in  the  beginning;  good  for  palsies  and  convulsions, 
&c.,  &c. 

Rainerio  Solenandro  parlando  di  Testanio  cive  del  sudatorio. 
Cujus  inter  distorta  crura  vel  quosvis  alios  statu  deformis  dcpra- 
vatos  artus  impositos  cuniculo  dirigit  et  reformat:  quemadmodum 
a  lignariis  fabris  videmus  contorta  ligna  flammis  dirigi  et  restitui. 
Lib.  i^  de  Can.  Cal.  Font.  Med.  cap.  8. 

L'  arenatione  di  S.  Restituta  mille  passi  lontana  da  Gurgitella 
The  terreno  sulphureous,  aluminous,  ferrugincous ;  most  excellent 
for  the  dropsy,  dissolves  swellings  from  the  gout,  cures  hysteric 
aflFections ;  perfect  cure  for  the  palsy  and  contractions  of  the  nerves. 
Heats  and  dries,  taken  in  beginning  of  summer  or  in  autumn. 
Hole  must  not  be  more  than  3  foot  deep,  otherwise  hot  water 
betrays  itself.    This  water  shows  mudi  salt  beside  the  above  quali- 


Tour  in  Italy.  587 

fil^.  The  arenation  is  good  against  leprosy,  abortions,  Orthiitis> 
iod  dead  palsy  especially. 

Arena  di  S.  Angelo,  on  the  sea  shore,  above  a  hundred  paces 
kxig  and  about  9  broad;  in  some  places  hotter  thto  in  others^ 
illibkes  and  bums  in  some;  hath  a  bath  of  fountain  of  water  near. 
Nitre  predominant^  with  iron,  bitumen,  and  sulphur.  Good  for 
sciatica,  gout,  dropsy,  abortions,  palsy ;  in  a  WOf d,  for  everything 
tfM  the  former  is,  and  in  greater  perfection. 

The  foregoing  accounts  partly  from  the  Ischiots  v/m  voct^  but 
iliudi  the  greater  part  out  of  Giulio  Jasolino  and  Joannes  £lysius, 
Nftpolitan  physicians. 

Seely  told  me  that  he  has  drunk  ten  young  vipers  taken  out  of 
tte  Womb,  all  living,  as  big  as  large  pins,  in  one  glass  of  wine. 
Tdlses  powder  of  vipers  dried  in  the  ^lade,  a  drachm  a  day  during 
tiie  months  of  May  and  September.  Sweetens  the  blood  above  all 
tilings. 

Manna  in  Ischia. 

Five  dukes  beside  marquises,  barons,  6cc.,  now  living  who  bought 
their  estates  and  titles  from  having  been  common  merchants :  one 
had  been  a  waterman,  now  Duke  di  Castiglione ;  another  a  porter, 
now  Duke  di  San  Levissino. 

Borellus  will  have  it  that  the  cavities  of  Etna  are  small  tubes 
and  receptacles  near  the  surface,  running  along  the  sides  of  the 
mountain  like  syphons,  which,  incurvated,  explain  the  ascent  or 
eruption  of  the  liquefied  matter  through  an  orifice  lower  than  the 
fountain  head.  He  thinks  this  the  way  rather  than  boiling  over 
like  a  pot,  which  is  contrary,  says  he,  to  the  gravity  of  that 
matter,  as  well  as  to  its  density^  which  hinder  it  from  ascending 
or  frothing.  <  £t  hoc,'  saith  he,  <  historian  i£tneorum  incendiorum 
satis  persuadere  videntur  nam  nunquam  observatum  est  ex  altis- 
simo  i£tnx  cratere  fluorem  vitreum  eructatum  foisse,  sed  tantum- 
modo  exiisse  fomos  et  flammas  quae  magno  impetu  ejecerint  are- 
nas et  saxea  fragmenta,  fluorem  vero  vitreum  semper  ex  novis 
voraginibus  apertis  in  diversis  locis  lateralibus  montis  exiisse.' 
Jo.  Alphonsi  Borelli  de  Incendiis  i£tnse,  cap.  13. 

Borellus's  slits  in  the  side  of  iEtna  explain  those  on  Monte 
Epomeo. 

JBorelli  in  the  right  that  the  mountain  is  large  enough  to  supply 
tlie  matter  flowing  down  the  sides ;  that  the  mountain  subsides  or 


588  yournal  of  a 

decreases  in  height,  while  'tis  enlarged  in  circumference ;  that  the 
rivers  are  made  not  so  much  of  sulphur,  bitumen,  &c.,  as  mdten 
stones  and  sand. 

The  formation  of  Monte  Novo  in  one  night,  and  the  covering  of 
Inarime  many  foot  deep  (at  least  where  I  had  an  opportunity  of 
observing),  seem  to  contradict  Borelli,  where  he  thinks  there  are 
no  such  vast  caverns,  &c. 

Borelli  saith  all  the  liquefied  matter  is  generated  near  the  surface 
in  the  sides  of  the  mountain,  and  that  there  is  not  only  no  deq) 
vorago  reaching  to  the  level  of  the  sea,  but  not  any  vast  cavity 
(the  bulk  of  the  mountain  internally  solid  stone,  otherwise  not 
able  to  support  so  vast  a  weight),  and  the  uppermost  vorago,  ac- 
cording to  him,  not  reckoning  above  loo  paces  deep.  This  to  be 
contradicted:  earthquakes  and  workings  in  the  sea  prove  large 
caverns. 

<  £t  magis  Inarime,  magis  ut  mugitor  anhelat, 
Vesbius,  attonitas  acer  cum  suscitat  urbes/ 

Valerius  Flaccus,  Arpm.  lib.  3. 

*  Haec  ego  Chalcidicis  ad  te,  Marcelle,  sonabam 
Litoribus  fractas,  ubi  Vesbius  egerit  iras 
iEmula  Trinacriis  volvens  incendia  flammis.* 

Stat.  Sylv.  lib.  4  ad  Marcellum, 

Diodorus  Siculus  will  have  the  Cumaean  field  to  be  called  Phleg- 
rean  from  Vesuvius ;  I  should  rather  think  it  was  from  the  Solfia- 
tara.     Diod.  1.  4  de  Hercule, 

Vid.  Ephtolam  Plimi  ad  Taciturn, 

[Here  follows  in  the  Bishop's  Memorandum  Book  a  long  extract 
in  Latin  from  Xiphilini  Epistola  Dionh  in  Ttto.'] 

The  head  and  face  of  Vesuvius  changed  by  the  eruptions  often. 
In  Strabo's  time  it  seems  to  have  been  neither  biceps,  nor  to  have 
a  hollow,  being  described  a  sandy  plain  a-top. 

Observable  that  the  eruptions  have  been  mostly,  if  not  alto- 
gether, on  the  south  sides ;  the  north  been  free. 

Virgil,  in  Georg,  2,  enumerating  the  choice  wines,  omits  that  of 
Vesuvius,  as  also  do  other  ancient  authors ;  whereas  it  is  now  found 
to  excel  all  others.  This  owing  to  the  great  quantity  of  nitre  from 
the  eruptions  since  the  age  of  Classics.     Anciently  the  soil  was 


Tour  in  Italy,  589 

famous  for  fhiitfulness  in  corn,  which  it  hath  now  lost,  but  is 
better  much  in  wine. 

Justin  {Hist.  1.  4*  c.  i)  thinks  the  eruptions  are  supplied  from 
the  sea;  and  I  have  heard  Napolitans  of  good  sense  maintain 
diat  it  was  probably  the  sea  water  sucked  in  at  the  bottom  of  the 
mountain  which  flowed  out  at  the  top. 

Much  nitre  in  Vesuvius ;  not  so  at  Solfatara.  Iron,  silver,  brass, 
or  the  like  metals,  vainly  or  poetically  (as  in  the  inscription)  pre- 
tended to  be  in  Vesuvius. 

Vesuvius  reckoned  31}  mile  in  circuit,  and  above  two  mile  per- 
pendicular height. 

It  is  pretended  that  in  31  [?]  hot  waters  were  spewed  out  of  the 
Ciater,  and  that  the  sea  was  dried  in  great  measure,  which  is 
lyought  to  confirm  Justin's  thought. 

Islands  formed  in  the  sea,  and  motion  without  winds  observed 
in  the  ocean,  shew  there  are  such  portentous  caverns  as  Borelli 
laughs  at. 

Borelli  saith  iEtna's  top  may  be  discerned  by  mariners  at  200 
miles  distance,  whence  some  have  concluded  it  6  mile  perpen- 
dicular height;  but  from  evident  reasons  he  perceives  it  not 
possible  it  should  be  above  3  mile  high;  wherefore  solves  it 
being  seen  at  that  distance  by  supposing  its  top  above  the  atmo- 
^ihere.  Qu.  whether  it  may  not  more  truly  be  solved  by  the 
refractive  curve  in  an  atmosphere  of  different  density. 

The  perimeter  of  iEtna's  base  made  by  Borellus  to  be  133  mile, 
and  3  miles  its  height. 

Seneca  In  Ep.  79 :  <  Ignem  in  inferna  aliqua  valle  conceptum 
exxstuare  et  alibi  pasci  non  in  ipso  monte  alimentum  sed  viam 
habere.' 

Last  eruption  of  Vesuvius  to  the  south-east.  The  great  torrent 
in  the  widest  part  3  miles  broad  esteemed. 

Altera  Japoniorum  classis  eorum  est  qui  nefaria  gentis  illius 
procurant  sacra,  capite  ac  mento  prorsus  abraso,  inter  quotidiana 
et  occulta  flagitia  ct  stupra,  coelibem  nihilominus  ac  sobriam  pro- 
fessi  vitam,  atque  ad  mortales  decipiendos  conciliandx  pecunix 
causa,  in  omne  argumentum  sanctimonix  gravitatisque  compositi : 
iidem  nobilium  ac  divitum  exsequias  ducunt,  et  altemantibus  in 
odaeo  choris,  carmina  suo  more  decantant,  et  dicendi  copia  et 
facultate  prsestantes  condonibus  populum  arbitratu  suo  circum- 


590  yaurnal  of  a 

agunt,  Variae  ac  multop  numerantur  eorum  sectae :  nee  desimt  fd 
ad  quandam  Rhodiorum  equitum  speciem  bellicas  una  cum  r^  I 
ligione  res  tractent:  Bed  coounimi  omnes  appellatione  Boozii 
vocitantur,  honesto  loco  m^i  pleri^ie :  nam  proceres  multitudioe 
liberorum  et  angustia  rei  familiarii^  urgente  ex  iis  aliquos  ad  Boob* 
orum  instituta  ac  familias  aggregant.  Multa  instiper  vaiiis  kabef^ 
locis  gymnasia  quas  Academia$  dicimus  copiosis  instructa  Tecfr 
galibus.  Atque  ob  eas  res  prsecipuum,  ante  banc  hominum  oetateiB, 
toto  Japone  obtinebant  honoris  ac  dignitatis  locum  ;  sed  post  ilh- 
tas  in  ea  loca  faces  Evangelii,  fraudesque  vulgo  nudari  et  coaigvi 
coeptas,  multum  videlicet  universo  generi  de  auctoritate  atqm 
existimatione  decessit. 

A  man  makes  a  fine  entertainment  of  music  and  refreshments^ 
or  he  discharges  a  vast  quantity  of  powder  in  mortalletti,  or  ly 
makes  an  expensive  firework,  and  this  they  call  devotion,  and  tht 
author  devout. 

In  the  sudatory  adjoining,  Gregory  the  Great  {Uh,  Dial.  4)  says 
the  Bishop  of  Capua  saw  the  soul  of  a  holy  man  doing  penance. 
This  he  relates  as  a  thing  told  and, believed  in  his  time  ^\ 

N.B.  The  various  dresses,  aspects,  and  complexions  of  the 
Madonna. 

[The  following  notice  occurs  on  the  opposite  page : — *  The  plebs 
(Valetta  tells  me)  are  in  the  interest  of  the  Germans;  most  of  the 
middling  people,  or  gente  civile,  in  that  of  the  Spaniards.  More 
lawyers  among  the  Neapolitans  than  in  all  Italy  besides.  Several 
Spanish  families  settled  and  mixed  with  the  Neapolitan,  and  now 
become  one  with  the  people.  He  tells  me  that  these  eleven  years 
that  the  Germans  have  been  here  they  have  not  made  one  friend- 
ship, any  of  them,  with  the  natives.'] 

Seel/s  story  of  the  piece  of  tongue  stuck  in  the  wall  of  a 
church,  I  heard  told  by  him  in  presence  of  a  marcbese  and  a  law- 
yer, who  yet  persisted  in  the  belief  of  that  absurd  miraql^,  saying 
his  unbelief  hindered  the  operation. 

At  Bari  the  thigh-bone  of  the  saint  was  seen  in  an  open  stone 
chest  on  the  side  of  the  fountain,  which  had  four  lighted  lanaps 
round  it ;  this  the  German  tells  me,  who  saith  the  water  most  ccr- 


"  [This  treatise,  to  say  the  least,  is  of      probably  very  much  interpK>lated.    See  Cxft,     1 
▼cry  doubtful  authorship,  and,  in  any  case,       Hist.  Lit.     H.J.R.] 


Tour  in  Italy.  591 

tainly  did  not  run  out  of  the  bone,  as  be  evidently  saw.  Yet  at 
Naples  men  of  quality  and  learning  stedfastly  believe  this. 

One  Saturday  morning,  a  pewterer,  our  next  neighbour^  had  a 
Madonna,  being  a  painted,  gay  dressed  baby,  brought  from  the 
Spirito  Sancto  to  his  shop,  which  was  hung  with  gaudy  pieces  of 
silk  for  her  reception.  She  came  in  a  chair,  the  porters  bare* 
headed.  Upon  her  arrival,  mortalletti  were  fired  at  the  door  of 
the  pewterer;  the  porters  handing  her  out  made  a  profound  reve- 
rence j  the  windows  opposite  and  adjoining  were  hung  with  silk 
and  tapestry.  That  night  she  was  entertained  with  firework,  as 
she  had  been  in  the  day  with  music  playing  in  the  street  to  wel- 
come her.  The  next  morning  music  again  in  the  street,  and  fire- 
work at  night.  The  Monday  likewise  music,  and  tapestry  hung 
out  as  before.  She  was  that  day  after  dinner  sent  away  in  a  chair, 
with  salutations  of  the  porters  bareheaded,  and  with  firing  of  mor- 
talletti. 

S.  Gregory  (lib.  4  Dialogorum)  relates  that  S.  Germanus,  Bishop  of 
Capua^  being  advised  to  sweat  in  the  sudatory  by  the  Lago  Agnano, 
there  saw  the  soul  of  Cardinal  Paschasius  doing  penance. 

N.B.  The  Lago  d' Agnano  hath  no  fish,  but  abounds  with  Arogs 
and  serpents. 

Monday,  April  11,  1718. 

Set  out  from  Naples  after  dinner;  reached  Capua  that  evening. 
Germans  busied  in  fortifying  the  town  against  the  approach  of  the 
Spaniards. 

12. 

First  post  through  delicious  green  fields,  plain  and  spacious, 
adorned  with  fruit  trees  and  oaks,  so  scattered  and  disposed  as  to 
make  a  delightftil  landscape ;  much  corn  and  fruit. 

od  post,  good  part  of  it  like  the  foregoing;  then  pass  through  a 
wood  of  oaks,  cupi  [cypress  ?],  &c.;  after  that  came  into  a  country 
less  plain;  hills,  and  great  part  of  the  road  cut  through  rocks; 
after  which  a  village,  Cassano,  where  we  first  meet  the  Appian 
Way.  Mountains  sometimes  before,  mostly  on  our  left,  since  we 
left  Naples.  Then  through  a  country  thick  set  with  wine,  oil, 
&C.,  to  S.  Agata,  having  hills  on  left  and  right.  Sessa,  fine  town 
within  less  than  a  mile  of  S.  Agata. 


592 


yaumal  of  a 


3rd  post  10  miles  from  S.  Agata,  thick  planted  with  olives  and 
vines;  save  a  good  part  in  the  beginning,  a  perfect  wood  of 
olives;  chain  of  mountains  on  our  left;  country  somewhat  on- 
equal,  with  pleasant  risings ;  after  this,  open,  large,  flat,  pleasant 
meadows  along  the  Liris,  which  flowed  on  our  right.  Cross  the 
Liris  or  Garigliano  at  ten  miles  fix)m  S.  Agata,  which  is  a  post- 
house  and  little  else.  Here  the  Germans  had  made  a  bridge  of 
boats,  which  we  drove  over  **.  Having  changed  horses  at  Garig- 
liano (a  house  or  two  so  called),  we  passed  onward  between 
an  old  aqueduct  on  the  right  and  certain  large  ruins  on  the  left 
Treeto  on  a  hill  on  the  other  side  the  aqueduct,  and  in  the  last 
post  we  passed  by  Castelfbrte  on  the  hills,  also  on  the  right.  Fine 
corn,  &c.  country,  till  within  about  4  miles  of  Mola,  when  it 
grew  stony,  and  unequal,  and  shrubby;  near  the  town  a  large 
grove  of  olives.  This  post  we  had  the  mountains  near  us  on  the 
right,  and  sea  on  the  left.  Mola  a  sea-port ;  poor  town  ^\  Divers 
ruins,  seeming  as  of  sepulchres,  &C.,  this  post  on  the  road  side. 
Greatest  part  of  this  post  passed  on  the  Appian  Way,  whereof 
fragments  appear  entire,  and  ending  abruptly,  as  if  part  had  been 
cut  off^  or  taken  away.     Liris  larger  than  the  Vulturnus. 

5th  post  from  Mola  to  Itri.  After  a  little  way  this  post  all 
enclosed  between  hills  on  right  and  left ;  many  olives  ;  almost  all 
on  the  Appian  Way.    Itri  a  town  poor  and  dirty,  but  pretty  large. 

6th  post  from  Itri  to  Fondi.  First  3  miles  pntterpropter  between 
and  over  hills  on  the  Appian  Way;  then  descend  a  few  miles 
further  to  Fondi,  over  a  plain  well  planted ;  cypress,  orange,  and 
lemon  trees  near  the  town  2*. 

7th  post  from  Fondi  to  Terracina,  3  miles  through  a  fruitful 
plain ;  oranges,  &c.  Without  the  town  a  small  river  seemed  to 
render  it  marshy  and  unwholesome,  flowing  by  the  city  on  the 
side  towards  Rome,  about  5  miles  more,  as  I  could  judge,  having 
woods  and  stony  hills  on  right  close,  and  at  small  distance  on  left 
the  Palus  Pomptina;    land  flat,  marshy,  hardly  inhabited  for  the 


"  [As  they  crossed  in  a  Ferry-boat  in 
coming  from  Rome,  the  bridge  must  have 
been  constructed  in  the  interval.    H.  J.  R.] 

"  [The  Cicerone,  the  inn  at  Mola  di 
Gaeta,  is  supposed  to  be  on  the  site  of  the 
Formian  Villa  of  Cicero.  The  scenery  is 
lovely.  The  orange  groves  almost  touch  the 
shore,  and  their  bright  green  contrasts  beau- 


tifully with  the  olive  groves  near  them,  wtak 
the  middle  of  the  picture  is  formed  by  tbe 
Bay  and  the  Promontory,  and  the  back- 
ground by  the  distant  hills.     H.  J.  R,] 

**  [The  scenery  between  Fondi  and  Itri 
is  very  beautiful,  but  travellers  in  posting 
days  were  anxious  to  press  on  quickly,  as  tlw 
inhabitants  had  a  bad  reputation.    H.  J.  R.] 


Tqut  in  Italy.  593 

.  illness  of  the  air.  About  %  miles  further  close  along  the  sea,  being 
verged  on  the  right  by  mountains,  many  broken  rocks,  as  fallen 
in  an  earthquake,  on  the  road.  Near  Terracina  a  grotto  with  an 
entrance  like  a  large  door  cut  in  the  rock,  the  face  whereof  is  also 
cut  even  down,  resembling  somewhat  the  gable-end  of  a  stone 
house.  A  fine  square  sepulchre  of  huge  square  stones  I  observed 
'witiiln  less  than  two  miles  before  we  came  to  the  boundaries  of  the 
kingdom.  It  stood  on  the  road  to  our  right,  and  is  become  a 
stable  for  asses,  a  door  being  in  one  side  of  it,  and  no  inscription. 
N'.B.  Having  passed  six  miles  from  Fondi  we  came  to  the  limits 

'  of  the  kingdom  and  entered  the  Roman  States.    Lie  this  night  at 

'  Xerracina. 

13. 

1st  post  8  miles  from  Terracina  to  Limarudi,  along  the  side  of 
shrubby,  stony  hills  on  right  \  some  ruins,  seeming  of  sepulchres, 
on  the  road  j  on  the  left  Monte  Circello  in  view.  All  this  post  on 
'  left  marshy,  low  ground,  little  cultivated,  and  uninhabited. 

and  post  8  miles  to  Pipemo,  whereof  six  first  through  a  plain 
champaign  much  like  the  foregoing;  the  %  last  among  wood  and 
hills.    Pipemo  situate  on  a  hill  or  eminence. 

3rd  post  from  Piperno  to  the  next  post-house,  7  miles,  6  among 
hills  and  fiaiitful  vales  (i.  e.  the  last) ;  almost  enter  in  the  Cam- 
pagna  di  Roma. 

4th  post  8  miles  to  Sermencta,  lying  through  the  Campagna ;  a 
mile  and  half  before  we  reached  Sermeneta,  a  fellow  extorted  a 
Julio  with  his  gun.  [See  the  6th  post  in  the  Journey  from  Rome 
to  Naples,  p.  568.]  N.B.  The  Campagna  green,  and  in  many  parts 
woody;  still  flat  and  marshy  j  no  houses,  hardly  any  corn,  no  cattle 
but  a  few  buflPaloes. 

5th  post  7  miles  to  Cisterna,  where  the  dwelling-seat  of  the 
Prince  of  Caserta.  We  passed  this  post  the  latter  part  through 
a  forest  with  deer  belonging  to  the  said  prince.  Few  or  no  houses 
in  the  Campagna. 

6th  post  8  miles  and  \  to  Veletri ;  7  first  through  rising  ground, 
being  spacious,  open,  corn,  green  fields ;  the  other  mile  and  \ 
through  enclosures  and  among  trees,  &c. 

7th  post  nine  miles  to  Marino,  over  and  among  hills  and  woods. 
Near  3  miles  steep  ascent  from  Veletri  j  after  about  6  miles  pass 

VOL.  IV.  Q  q 


594  yaurnal  of  a  Tour  in  Italy. 

by  Caste)  Gondolfb,  situate  in  a  lake  seeming  3  or  4  miles  roiuuL 
The  latter  part  of  this  post  pretty  well  tilled.  Marino  a  pretty 
clean  village,  belonging  to  the  Constable  Colonna. 

8th  post  from  Marino  to  the  next  post-house,  6  miles  throu^ 
the  flat  Campagna  di  Roma.  Overturned  topsyturvy  in  this  post 
in  the  night. 

9th  post  6  miles  to  Rome,  through  the  flat  Campagna ;  hardlj  a 
tree  or  cottage ;  some  corn.  Arrived  at  Rome  about  ten  o'clock 
last  night.  Tramontane  reckoning  *\ 

[Bishop  Berkeley  here  gives  many  extracts  from  Roman  Catholic 
books.  One  he  prefiaces  thus : — ^  Instance  of  praying  ultimately  to 
saints  out  of  an  office  recited  at  certain  times,  viz.  on  Fridays,  in 
the  church,  called  II  Transito  di  S.  Antonio  di  Padua.'   Oremus,  &c 

He  refers  also  to  the  Gratie  i  Miracoli  del  Gram  SamU  di  Fadm»i 
in  Fadova  col  licenza  anno  1 703,  p.  353. 

He  quotes  also  the  Acta  Canomzatioms  Sanctorum  Petri  de  Akmh 
tar  a  et  Maria  Magdalen  a  de  Pa%xJy  Rome,  1669,  p.  10,  and  remarb 
on  the  titles  Sanctissimus  and  Nostro  SignorOy  which  belong  to  die 
Saviour,  being  applied  to  the  Pope. 

He  quotes  also  other  instances  of  the  practice  of  praying  to 
saints.] 

**  [The  above  Itinerary  it  almost  identical  ever,  a  few  differences,  which,  combined  with 
with  that  in  a  former  part  of  the  Joomal,  other  circumstances,  give  it  an  interest  of  its 
only  in  the  reverse  order.     There  are,  how-      own.     H.  J.  R.] 


SERMONS,   SKELETONS   OF   SERMONS, 
AND    VISITATION    CHARGE. 

PREFATORY    NOTE 

BY  ARCHDEACON   ROSE. 

The  Sermons  and  Skeletons  of  Sermons  by  Bishop  Berkeley,  now 
published  for  the  first  time  in  the  present  edition  of  his  Works,  constitute 
the  largest  amount  of  purely  theological  teaching  which  has  ever  been 
[aid  before  the  world  as  proceeding  from  him.  His  high  reputation  was 
won  in  other  fields  of  thought ;  but  the  character  which  the  well-known 
line  of  Pope  has  always  connected  with  his  name  must  necessarily  give 
a  deep  interest  to  any  writings  of  his  which  relate  to  religion  or  the  Bible. 
These  Sermons  therefore  have  a  double  interest.  They  have  the  interest 
derived  from  their  own  merit,  and  the  additional  interest  of  enabling  us 
to  see  in  what  manner  a  mind,  at  once  so  acute  and  powerful  as  that  of 
Berkeley,  would  treat  these  most  important  subjects.  We  learn  from 
them  the  nature  of  his  ordinary  religious  instruction  from  the  pulpit 
It  is  remarkable  that  so  little  of  it  should  remain.  We  have  in  his  pub- 
lished works  only  one  Sermon  and  a  Discourse  on  Passive  Obedience. 
The  present  edition  adds  three  complete  Sermons  and  twelve  Skeletons 
to  those  formerly  known. 

These  Sermons,  though  they  may  not  increase  his  literary  fame,  will 
in  no  measure  detract  from  his  reputation.  They  have  indeed  a  special 
value  in  shewing  his  manner  of  handling  these  important  subjects.  In 
one  of  them,  that  on  the  love  of  our  neighbour,  we  may  perhaps  feel 
that  there  is  too  much  which  is  commonplace,  but  at  the  same  time  it 
reflects  so  exactly  the  character  which  he  always  bore,  in  regard  to 
a  charitable  construction  of  the  conduct  of  other  men,  that  it  has,  on 
that  account  alone,  its  own  proper  interest.  The  Sermon  in  Trinity 
College,  Dublin,  was  written  in  January,  1708,  when  he  was  very  young. 
It  is  more  a  reasoning  essay  than  a  sermon,  but  as  Berkeley  advanced 
in  life  he  became  more  scriptural  in  his  teaching :  the  moral  reasoning 
appears  rather  to  be  withdrawn,  and  Scripture  to  come  forth  into  its  own 
place.   If  we  compare  the  sermon  in  1 708  with  that  preached  at  Leghorn 


5q6  Prefatory  Note. 

m 

on  Palm  Sunday  in  1714,  we  shall  observe  this  prepress,  whidi  is  Hi 
more  plainly  seen  in  the  Skeletons  of  Sermons,  which  belong  to  the 
period  of  his  residence  in  Rhode  Island  (in  1729-31),  after  a  lapse  of 
fifteen  additional  years. 

In  the  Skeletons  of  Sermons  he  marks  constantly  the  passages  of 
Scripture  which  bear  upon  the  subject  of  his  text,  and  condocts  the 
whole  range  of  his  teaching  in  accordance  with  the  line  indicated  bf 
them.  He  appears  rarely  to  have  been  expository  in  his  teachiiig; 
there  is  more  of  application  than  of  exegesis,  and  the  whole  discomse 
usually  takes  a  practical  turn.  If  we  knew  the  nature  of  his  delivery,  i>e 
could  judge  better  of  these  remains,  for  they  appear  exactly  of  the  dass 
of  sermons  to  which  an  earnest  and  winning  manner  would  give  greit 
attraction^.  There  are  however  some  doctrinal  arguments  put  forth 
(e.g.  the  reconciliation  of  the  passages  relating  to  the  Divine  and  Human 
nature  of  Christ),  but  Berkeley  generally  takes  the  conunon  doctrines 
of  the  Church  as  the  basis  of  his  instruction,  and  rarely  seems  to  have 
argued  in  favour  of  them,  las  if  they  needed  support  Strong  in  the  faith 
of  the  Catholic  Church  on  all  important  points,  this  great  writer  uses 
them  as  acknowledged  among  Christians;  and  taking  them  as  his 
starting-points,  he  illustrates  them,  and  sometimes  confirms  them,  bnt 
for  the  most  part  applies  them  to  Christian  practice.  At  least  such  is 
the  impression  made  on  me  after  an  attentive  consideration  of  these 
remains  of  Berkeley,  which,  I  think,  form  a  very  precious  monumait 
of  his  truly  Christian  and  Catholic  spirit 

Two  addresses  delivered  by  Berkeley  in  the  discharge  of  his  episcopal 
•duties  are  added  to  these  Sermons  and  Skeletons  of  Sermons.  Brief  as 
they  are,  they  have  considerable  interest,  as  forming  almost  the  only 
examples  now  extant  of  the  mode  in  which  he  carried  on  this  portion 
of  his  clerical  work.  One  is  an  address  to  the  candidates  for  confirma- 
tion ;  the  other  the  Charge  delivered  at  his  primary  visitation  as  Bishop 
of  Cloyne.  The  former,  though  very  brief,  is  very  clear  and  explicit  in 
the  doctrines  which  it  is  intended  to  enforce.  It  describes  the  privileges 
which  the  Church  confers  upon  its  members,  but  its  extreme  brevity 
precludes  his  enforcing  his  practical  directions  with  any  power. 

The  Visitation  Charge  is  also  important  as  a  testimony  to  the  con- 
dition of  Ireland  at  that  time ',  in  regard  to  the  intercourse  between  the 

*  In   the   conclusion  to  the  Sermon   on  style  of  his   discourses,  which   is    for  the 

I  Tim.  i.  2,  preached  at  Leghorn  on  Palm  most  part  very  calm  and  unimpassioned. 

Sunday,   there  is  a  very  touching  passage  ■  It  ought  also  to  be  compared  with  las 

relative  to  the  sufferings  of  our  Lord.     It  Word  to  the   Wis€  and  his  Letter  to  Ae 

forms  rather  an  exception  to  the  general  Roman  Catholics  of  Ireland, 


Prefatory  Note.  597 

^  and  the  Roman  Catholics.  His  directions  to  the  clergy  to  seek 
ortunities  of  conversing  with  their  Roman  Catholic  parishioners  on 
^ous  topics,  in  the  hope  of  converting  them,  are  interesting.  The 
tleness  and  courtesy  of  his  character  are  quite  reflected  in  the  tone 
is  Charge,  while  his  sense  of  the  evils  of  the  errors  of  Romanism  and 
ts  superstitious  practices  is  declared  in  a  manner  quite  in  harmony 
\  the  tone  of  hb  other  works. 


SERMONS. 


I. 

PREACHED  IN  [TRINITY]  COLLEGE  CHAPEL,  SUNDAY 

EVENING,  JANUARY  ii,  170J. 

a  Tim.  i.  10. 

Jesus  Christ f  who  bath  abolished  deathj  and  hath  brought  life  and 
immortality  to  light  through  the  gospel. 

Whether  or  no  the  knowledge  of  eternal  life  may  be  reckoned 
among  the  attainments  of  some  ancient  philosophers,  hshall  not 
now  enquire.  Be  that  as  it  will,  sure  I  am  the  doctrine  of  lift 
and  immortality  was  never  so  current  and  universal  as  since  the 
coming  of  our  blessed  Saviour,  For  though  it  be  granted,  whidi 
nevertheless  is  very  hard  to  conceive,  that  some  few  of  extraor- 
dinary parts  and  application  might,  by -the  unassisted  force  of 
reason,  have  obtained  a  demonstrative  knowledge  of  that  impor- 
tant pointy  yet  those  who  wanted  either  leisure  or  abilities  for 
making  so  great  and  difficult  a  discovery,  which  was  doubtless  the 
far  greatest  part  of  mankind,  must  still  have  remained  in  the  dark: 
for,  though  they  who  saw  farther  than  other  men  should  tell  them 
the  result  of  their  reasonings,  yet  he  that  knows  not  the  premises 
could  never  be  certain  of  the  conclusion  except  his  teacher  had  the 
power  of  working  miracles  for  his  conviction.  *Tis  therefore  evi- 
dent that,  whatever  discoveries  of  a  future  state  were  made  by 
those  that  diverted  their  thoughts  that  way,  how  far  soever  they 
might  have  seen,  yet  all  this  light  was  smothered  in  their  own 
bosoms,  not  a  ray  to  enlighten  the  rest  of  mankind  till  the  dawn- 
ing of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness,  who  brought  life  and  immortality 


Sermon  preached  at  Trinily  College,  Dublin.      599 

light  by  the  gospel.  In  discoursing  on  which  words  1  shai! 
observe  the  fallowing  method: — ist,  I  shall  consider  what  effect 
this  revelation  has  had  on  the  Christian  world  j  andly,  I  shall  en- 
quire how  it  comes  to  pass  that  it  has  no  greater  effect  on  our 

Ives  and  conversations ;  ^rdly,  I  shall  shew  by  what  means  it  may 

c  rendered  more  effectual. 
As  to  the  1st  point,  one  would  think  he  had  not  tar  to  seek  for 
the  effects  of  so  important  and  universal  a  revelation — a  reve- 
lation of  eternal  happiness  or  misery,  the  unavoidable  inheritance 
of  every  man,  delivered  by  the  Son  of  God,  confirmed  by  miracles, 
and  owned  by  all  the  professors  of  Christianity.  If  some  among 
the  heathen  practised  good  actions  on  no  other  view  than  the 
temporal  advantages  to  civil  society;  if  others  were  found  who 
thought  virtue  a  reward  sufficient  for  itself;  if  reason  and  experi- 
ence had  long  before  convinced  the  world  how  unpleasant  and 
destructive  vice  had  been,  as  well  to  its  votaries  as  the  rest  of 
mankind,  what  man  would  not  embrace  a  thing  in  itself  so  lovely 
and  profitable  as  virtue,  when  recommended  by  the  glorious 
leward  of  life  and  immortality  ?  what  wretch  so  obdurate  and  foolish 
as  not  to  shun  vice,  a  thing  so  batefiil  and  pernicious,  when  dis- 
pouraged  therefrom  by  the  additional  terrors  of  eternal  death  and 
nation?  Thus  might  a  man  think  a  thorough  reformation  of 
jnanners  the  necessary  effect  of  such  a  doctrine  as  our  Saviour's. 
He  may  perhaps  imagine  that  men,  as  soon  as  their  eyes  were 
opened,  would  quit  all  thoughts  of  this  perishing  earth,  and  extend 
tecir  views  to  those  new -discovered  regions  of  life  and  immor- 
tality. Thus,  I  say,  might  a  man  hope  and  argue  with  himself. 
But,  alas!  upon  enquiry  all  this,  I  fear,  will  be  found  frustrated 
tiopes  and  empty  speculation. 

Let  us  but  look  a  little  into  matter  of  fact.  How  far,  I  beseech 
you,  do  we  Christians  surpass  the  old  heathen  Romans  in  tcm- 
|ierance  and  fortitude,  in  honour  and  integrity?  Are  we  less  given 
to  pride  and  avarice,  strife  and  faction,  than  our  Pagan  ancestors? 
IWith  us  that  have  immortality  in  view,  is  not  the  old  doctrine  of 
'Eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we  die,'  as  much  in  vogue  as  ever? 
We  inhabitants  of  Christendom,  enlightened  with  the  Hght  of  the 
Gospel,  instructed  by  the  Son  of  God,  are  we  such  shining  exam- 
ples of  peace  and  virtue  to  the  unconverted  Gentile  world  ?  and 
I  less  certain  than  wonderful  that  now,  wht-n  the  fulness  of  time 


V 


6oo  Sermon  preached  at 

is  come,  and  the  light  of  the  Gospel  held  forth  to  guide  every  mal 
through  piety  and  virtue  into  everlasting  happiness, — ^I  say,  is  it  not 
equally  evident  and  strange,  that  at  this  time  of  day  and  in  these 
parts  of  the  world  men  go  together  by  the  ears  about  the  things  of 
this  life,  and  scramble  for  a  little  dirt  within  sight  of  heaven? 

1  come  now  to  enquire  into  the  cause  of  this  strange  blindness 
and  infatuation  of  Christians,  whence  it  is  that  immortality,  a 
happy  immortality,  has  so  small  influence,  when  the  vain,  transi- 
tory things  of  this  life  do  so  strongly  affect  and  engage  us  in  tbe 
pursuit  of  them  ?  Wherein  consists  the  wondrous  mechanism  of 
our  passions,  which  are  set  a-going  by  the  small  inconsiderable 
objects  of  sense,  whilst  things  of  infinite  weight  and  moment  ait 
altogether  ineffectual  ?  Did  Heaven  but  kindle  in  our  hearts  hopes 
and  desires  suitable  to  so  great  and  excellent  an  object,  doubtless 
all  the  actions  of  our  lives  would  evidently  concur  to  the  attain- 
ment thereof.  One  could  be  no  longer  to  seek  for  the  effects  of 
our  Saviour's  revelation  amongst  us.  Whoever  beheld  a  Christian 
would  straightway  take  him  for  a  pilgrim  on  earth,  walking  in  the 
direct  path  to  heaven.  So  regardless  should  he  be  of  the  things  of 
this  life,  so  fiill  of  the  next,  and  so  free  from  the  vice  and  cor- 
ruption which  at  present  stains  our  profession.  If,  then,  we  can 
discover  how  it  comes  to  pass  that  our  desire  of  life  and  immor- 
tality is  so  weak  and  ineffectual,  we  shall  in  some  measure  sec 
into  the  cause  of  those  many  contradictions  which  are  too  con- 
spicuous betwixt  the  faith  and  practice  of  Christians,  and  be  able 
to  solve  that  great  riddle,  namely,  that  men  should  think  infinite 
eternal  bliss  within  their  reach  and  scarce  do  anything  for  the 
obtaining  it. '  Rational  desires  are  vigorous  in  proportion  to  the 
goodness  and,  if  I  may  so  speak,  attainableness  of  their  objects; 
for  whatever  provokes  desire  does  it  more  or  less  according  as  it 
is  more  or  less  desirable ;  and  what  makes  a  thing  desirable  is  its 
goodness  or  agrceableness  to  our  nature,  and  also  the  probability 
there  is  of  our  being  able  to  obtain  it.  For  that  which  is  appa- 
rently out  of  our  reach  affects  us  not,  desire  being  a  spur  to 
action,  and  no  rational  agent  directing  his  actions  to  what  he  sees 
impossible  I  know  a  late  incomparable  philosopher  will  have  the 
present  uneasiness  the  mind  feels,  which  ordinarily  is  not  propor- 
tionate to  the  goodness  of  the  object,  to  determine  the  will.  But 
I  speak  not  of  the  ordinary  brutish  appetites  of  men,  but  of  well- 


Trinity  College,  Dublin. 


60 1 


lieundnj  rational  desires,  which,  from  what  has  been  said,  'tis 
lain  are  in  a  direct  compounded  reason  of  the  excellency  and 
certainty  of  their  objects.  Thus,  an  object  with  half  tlie  goodness 
ind  double  the  certainty,  and  another  with  half  the  certainty  and 
double  the  goodness,  are  equally  desired  j  and  universally  those 
lots  arc  alike  esteemed  wherein  the  prizes  are  reciprocally  as  the 
chances.  Let  us  now  by  this  rule  try  what  value  wc  ought  to  put 
jr  Saviour's  promises,  with  what  degree  of  zeal  and  desire  we 
should  in  reason  pursue  those  things  Jesus  Christ  has  brought  to 
light  by  the  Gospel.  In  order  whereunto  it  will  be  proper,  ist,  to 
consider  their  excellency,  and  adiy,  the  certainty  there  is  of  our 
obtaining  th>"m  upon  fulfilling  the  conditions  on  which  they  are 
]>roniised.  ist,  then,  the  things  promised  by  our  Saviour  are  life 
and  immortality;  that  is,  in  the  language  of  the  Scriptures,  eternal 
happiness,  a  happiness  large  as  our  desires,  and  those  desires  not 
Stinted  to  the  few  objects  we  at  present  receive  from  some  dull 
inlets  of  perception,  but  proportionate  to  what  our  faculties  shall 
be  when  God  has  given  the  finishing  stroke  to  our  nature  and  made 
tis  fit  inhabitants  for  heaven — a  happiness  which  wc  narrow-sighted 
mortals  wretchedly  point  out  to  ourselves  by  green  meadows,  fra- 
grant groves,  refreshing  shades,  crystal  streams,  and  what  other 
pleasant  ideas  our  fancies  can  glean  up  in  this  vale  of  misery,  but 
io  vain^  since  the  Apostle  himself,  who  was  caught  up  into  the  third 
heaven,  could  give  no  other  than  this  empty  though  emphatical  de- 
scription of  it :  'tis  what '  eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither 
hath  it  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive.'  Now,  by  the 
(brcgoing  rule,  the  hazard,  though  never  so  small  and  uncertain, 
of  a  good  so  ineffably,  so  inconceivably  great,  ought  to  be  more 
valued  and  sought  after  than  the  greatest  assurance  we  can  have 
of  any  sublunary  good ;  since  in  what  proportion  this  good  is  more 
certain  than  that,  in  as  great,  nay,  in  a  much  greater  proportion 
that  good  is  more  excellent  than  this.  'Twill  therefore  be  need- 
less to  enquire  nicely  into  the  second  thing  which  was  to  be 
considered,  namely,  the  certainty  there  is  of  the  prize,  which  is 
good  enough  to  warrant  the  laying  out  all  our  care,  industry,  and 
aiFections  on  the  least  hazard  of  obtaining  it. 

Whatever  effect  brutal  passion  may  have  on  some,  or  thought- 
lessness and  stupidity  on  others,  yet  1  believe  there  are  none 
amongst  us  that  do  not  at  least  think  it  as  probable  the  Gospel 


6o2  Sermon  preached  at 

may  be  true  as  false.  Sure  I  am  no  man  can  say  be  has  twoto 
one  odds  on  the  contrary  side.  But  when  life  and  immortality  are 
at  stake,  wc  should  play  our  part  with  fear  and  trembling^  tiKng^ 
'twere  an  hundred  to  one  but  we  are  cheated  in  the  end.  Nay,  if 
there  be  any,  the  least  prospect  of  our  winning  so  noble  a  prixe; 
and  that  there  is  some,  none,  the  beastliest  libertine  or  most 
besotted  atheist,  can  deny.  Hence  'tis  evident  that,  were  our 
desires  of  the  things  brought  to  light  through  the  Gospel  such  as 
in  strict  reason  they  ought  to  be,  nothing  could  be  more  vigorous 
and  intense,  nothing  more  firm  and  constant  than  they ;  and  desire 
producing  uneasiness,  and  uneasiness  action  in  proportion  to  itsd^ 
it  necessarily  follows  that  we  should  make  life  and  immortality 
our  principal  business,  directing  all  our  thoughts,  hopes,  and 
actions  that  way,  and  still  doing  something  towards  so  noble  a 
purchase.  But  since  it  is  too  evidently  otherwise,  since  the  trifling 
concerns  of  this  present  life  do  so  far  employ  us  that  we  can  scarce 
spare  time  to  cast  an  eye  on  futurity  and  look  beyond  the  grave, 
'tis  a  plain  consequence  that  we  have  not  a  rational  desire  for  the 
things  brought  to  light  by  our  Saviour,  and  that  because  we  do  not 
exercise  our  reason  about  them  as  we  do  about  more  trivial  con- 
cerns. Hence  it  is  the  revelation  of  life  and  immortality  has  so 
little  eflFect  on  our  lives  and  conversations;  we  never  think,  wc 
never  reason  about  it.  Now,  why  men  that  can  reason  well 
enough  about  other  matters,  should  act  the  beast  and  the  block 
so  egregiously  in  things  of  highest  importance ;  why  they  should 
prove  so  deaf  and  stupid  to  the  repeated  calls  and  promises  of 
God,  there  may,  I  think,  besides  the  ordinary  avocations  of  the 
world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil,  be  assigned  these  two  reasons: 
ist,  we  have  no  determined  idea  of  the  pleasures  of  heaven,  and 
therefore  they  may  not  so  forcibly  engage  us  in  the  contemplation 
of  them ;  2dly,  they  are  the  less  thought  on  because  we  imagine 
them  at  a  great  distance.  As  to  the  ist,  'tis  true  we  can  in  this 
life  have  no  determined  idea  of  the  pleasures  of  the  next,  and  that 
because  of  their  surpassing,  transcendent  nature,  which  is  not 
suited  to  our  present  weak  and  narrow  faculties.  But  this  mc- 
thinks  should  suffice,  that  they  shall  be  excellent  beyond  the  com- 
pass of  our  imagination,  that  they  shall  be  such  as  God,  wise, 
powerful,  and  good,  shall  think  fit  to  honour  and  bless  his  family 
withal.     Would  the  Almighty  inspire  us  with  new  faculties,  and 


Trinity  College,  Dublin. 


603 


us  a  taste  of  those  celestial  joys,  there  could  be  no  longer 
ving  in  this  world,  we  could  have  no  relish  for  the  things  of  it. 
It  must  languish  and  pine  away  with  an  incessant  longing  after 
c  next.  Besides,  there  could  be  no  virtue,  novice;  we  should 
;  no  longer  free  agents,  but  irresistibly  hurried  on  to  do  or  suffer 
Ljrthing  for  the  obtaining  so  great  felicity.  As  for  the  2d  reason 
signed  for  our  neglect  of  the  life  to  come,  namely,  that  it 
Ippcars  to  be  at  a  great  distance  from  us,  I  own  we  are  very  apt 
think  it  so,  though,  for  ought  that  I  can  sec,  without  any  reason 
all.  The  world  we  live  in  may  not  unfitly  be  compared  to 
Alexander  die  Impostor's  temple,  as  described  by  Lucian.  It  had 
fore  and  a  hack  door,  and  a  continual  press  going  in  at  the  one 
id  out  at  the  other,  so  there  was  little  stay  for  any  one  to  observe 
Irhat  was  doing  within.  Just  so  we  see  a  multitude  daily  crowd- 
ing into  the  world  and  daily  going  out  of  it  ^  we  have  scarce  time 
to  look  about  us,  and  if  wc  were  left  every  one  to  his  own  ex- 
perience, could  know  very  little  either  of  the  earth  itself,  or  of 
ihose  things  the  Almighty  has  placed  thereon,  so  swift  is  our 
progress  from  the  womb  to  the  grave  ^  and  yet  this  span  of  life, 
this  moment  of  duration,  we  are  senseless  enough  to  make  account 
as  if  it  were  longer  than  even  eternity  itself.  But,  granting 
tbe  promised  happiness  be  never  so  far  off,  and  let  it  appear 
never  so  small,  what  then?  Is  an  object  in  reality  little  because 
It  appears  so  at  a  distance?  And  I  ask,  whether  shall  a  man 
0)3ke  an  estimate  of  things  by  what  they  really  are  in  themselves, 
or  by  what  they  only  appear  to  be? 

kl  come  now  to  the  third  and  last  thing  proposed,  namely,  to  show 
w  our  Saviour's  revelation  of  life  and  immortality  may  come  to 
ve  a  greater  effect  on  our  lives  and  conversations.  Had  wc  but 
longing  desire  for  the  things  brought  to  light  by  the  Gospel,  it 
would  undoubtedly  show  itself  in  our  lives,  and  we  should  thirst 
aAer  righteousness  as  the  hart  panteth  after  the  water  brooks. 
Wow,  to  beget  in  ourselves  this  zeal  and  uneasiness  for  life  and 
immortality,  we  need  only,  as  has  been  already  made  out,  cast 
eye  on  them,  think  and  reason  about  them  with  some  d^ree 
of  attention.  Let  any  man  but  open  his  eyes  and  behold  the 
two  roads  before  him — the  one  leading  through  the  straight, 
peaceful  paths  of  piety  and  virtue  to  eternal  life;  the  other  de- 
formed with  all  the  crookedness  of  vice,  and  ending  in  everlasting 


6o4      Sermon  preached  at  Trimty  College^  Dublin. 

death, — ^I  say,  let  a  man  but  look  before  him  and  view  them 
both  with  a  reasonable  care,  and  then  choose  which  he  will. 
A  man  taking  such  a  course  cannot  be  mistaken  in  his  choice; 
and  is  not  this  a  small  thing  to  weigh  and  ponder  a  little 
the  proflFers  of  the  Almighty  ?  Would  any  one  propose  to  us  a 
bargain  that  carried  with  it  some  prospect  of  worldly  advantage^ 
we  should  without  doubt  think  it  worth  our  consideration;  and 
when  the  eternal  God  makes  us  an  ofier  of  happiness,  boundless 
as  our  desires  and  lasting  as  our  immortal  souls, — when  He 
dispatches  His  well-beloved  Son  on  this  momentous  message,  shall 
we  remain  stupid  and  inattentive;  and  must  it  be  said  to  our 
reproach  that  life  and  immortality  are  pearls  before  swine  ?  Tis 
true  most  people  have  a  peculiar  aversion  for  thinking,  but  espe> 
dally  to  trouble  one's  head  about  another  life  is  much  out  of 
feshion.  The  world  to  come  takes  up  little  of  our  thoughts  and  less 
of  our  conversation.  Wealth,  pleasure,  and  [M^eferment  make  die 
great  business  of  our  lives ;  and  we  stand  on  all  sides  exposed  to 
the  solicitations  of  sense,  which  never  fail  to  draw  off  our  thoughts 
from  remote  goods.  But  be  it  never  so  unfashionable,  be  it  nevcf 
so  painful  and  laborious  a  task,  he  that  will  enjoy  heaven  in  the 
next  life  must  think  on  it  in  this;  he  must  break  through  the 
encumbrances  of  sense  and  pleasure  sometimes  to  have  a  serious 
thought  of  eternity,  and  cast  an  eye  on  the  recompense  of  reward. 
In  short,  he  that  is  not  resolved  to  walk  blindfold  down  to  hell 
must  look  about  him  betimes,  while  he  stands  upon  firm  ground, 
and  from  off  this  present  world  take  a  prospect  of  the  next,  in 
comparison  of  which  the  whole  earth  and  all  contained  therein  i% 
in  the  elegant  style  of  a  prophet,  no  more  than  the  drop  of  a 
bucket,  the  dust  of  a  balance,  yea  less  than  nothing. 

Grant,  we  beseech  thee.  Almighty  God,  that  the  words  which 
we  have  heard  this  day  with  our  outward  ears  may,  through  Thy 
grace,  be  so  grafted  inwardly  in  our  hearts,  that  they  may  bring 
forth  in  us  the  fruit  of  good  living,  to  the  honour  and  praise  of  Thy 
Name;  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord. 

The  grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  the  love  of  God,  and 
the  fellowship  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  be  with  us  all  evermore. 


Sermon  preached  at  Leghorn.  605 


II. 

PREACHED  AT  LEGHORN,  PALM  SUNDAY,  A.D.  17 14. 

I  Tim.  I.  2. 

^bis  it  a/aitJ^fuI  siting  and  worthy  qfall  acceptation,  that  Christ  Jesus  came 

into  the  world  to  save  sinners. 

As  there  is  not  any  subject  on  which  we  can  employ  our 
thou^ts  with  more  advantage  and  comfort  than  the  life  and 
sufferings  of  our  blessed  Saviour,  and  the  inestimable  benefits  that 
it  is  in  our  power  to  receive  thereby,  so  we  ought  frequently  to 
make  them  the  subject  of  our  meditations ;  especially  at  this  time, 
which  is  appointed  by  the  Church  for  a  peculiar  season  of  con- 
trition and  repentance,  and  a  devout  preparation  of  ourselves  for 
the  reception  of  the  Holy  Sacrament.  But  that  you  may  clearly 
sec  the  necessity  and  importance  of  our  Saviour's  coming  into  the 
world,  it  will  be  necessary  to  reflect  on  the  state  in  which  man- 
kind was  before  his  coming  amongst  them.  The  whole  world  was 
then  comprehended  under  two  general  heads  of  Jews  and  Gentiles  ^ 
and  that  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  God  in  sending  the  Messiah 
upon  earth  may  be  made  more  manifest  unto  you,  I  shall  consider 
the  condition  and  circumstances  of  each  of  these  distinctly;  and 
first  of  the  Gentiles. 

By  whom  we  are  to  understand  all  those  nations  that  had  no 
other  guides  to  direct  them  in  the  conduct  of  life  and  pursuit  of 
happiness  besides  reason  and  common  sense,  which  are  otherwise 
called  the  light  of  nature.  They  had  no  inspired  writings  to 
inform  them  of  the  being  and  attributes  of  God,  or  of  the  worth 
and  immortality  of  their  own  souls:  no  lawgivers  to  explain  to 
them  that  manner  of  worship  by  which  the  Supreme  Being  was  to 
be  adored:  no  prophets  or  apostles  to  reclaim  them  fix)m  their 
evil  ways  and  warn  them  of  the  wrath  to  come,  or  to  encourage 
them  to  a  good  life  by  laying  before  them  the  infinite  and  eternal 
happiness,  which  in  another  world  shall  be  the  portion  of  those 
who  practise  virtue  and  innocence  in  this. 

It  must  indeed  be  owned  that  the  Gentiles  might  by  a  due  use 
of  their  reason,  by  thought  and  study,  observing  the  beauty  and 


6o6  Sermofi  preached  at  Leghorn. 

order  of  the  world,  and  the  cvceilence  and  prafitablcDcss  of  TkiK, 
hare  obtained  some  sense  of  a  Providence  and  of  Religion  ^  agree- 
ably to  which  the  Apostle  saith  that  the  invisible  things  of  God 
firom  the  .creatio^  of  the  world  are  clearly  seen,  and  understood  by 
the  things  which  are  made,  even  his  eternal  power  and  Godhead. 
But  how  few  were  they  who  made  this  use  of  their  reason,  or  lived 
according  to  it?  Perhaps  here  and  there  one  among  those  ndio 
were  called  Philosophers,  while  the  bulk  of  mankind  being  diverted 
by  the  vain  pursuits  of  riches  and  honours  and  sensual  pleasure^ 
from  cultivating  their  minds  by  knowledge  and  virtue,  sunk  into 
the  grossest  ignorance.  Idolatry  and  Superstition.  Professing 
themselves  wise  they  changed  the  Glory  of  the  incorruptible  God 
into  an  image,  made  like  to  corruptible  man,  and  to  birds  and 
fouriboted  beasts  and  creeping  things.  Their  Sacred  Rites  were 
polluted  with  acts  of  uncleanness  and  debauchery ;  and  Human 
Sacrifice  often  stained  the  altars  erected  to  their  Deities.  It 
would  take  up  too  much  time  to  recount  all  the  extravagant 
follies  and  cruelties  which  made  up  the  belief  and  practice  of  their 
religion :  as  their  burning  their  own  children  to  the  God  Moloch 
in  the  valley  of  Hinnom;  their  adoring  oxen  and  serpents  or 
inanimate  things  as  the  sun  and  stars,  and  certain  plants  or  fruits 
of  the  earth,  which  things  are  at  this  day  practised  by  many 
nations  where  the  glorious  light  of  the  Gospel  has  not  yet  shone. 
I  shall  conclude  this  account  of  their  idolatry  by  the  following 
description  of  it  taken  out  of  the  Prophet  Isaiah : — '  A  man  planteth 
an  ash,  and  the  rain  doth  nourish  it.  Then  shall  it  be  for  a  man 
to  burn:  for  he  will  take  thereof,  and  warm  himself;  yea,  he 
kindleth  it,  and  baketh  bread ;  yea,  he  maketh  a  god,  and  wor- 
shippeth  it ;  he  maketh  it  a  graven  image,  and  falleth  down  thereta 
He  burneth  part  thereof  in  the  fire ;  with  part  thereof  he  eateth 
flesh ;  he  roasteth  roast,  and  is  satisfied :  yea,  he  warmeth  himself, 
and  saith.  Aha,  I  am  warm,  I  have  seen  the  fire :  and  the  residue 
thereof  he  maketh  a  god,  even  his  graven  image :  he  falleth  down 
unto  it,  and  worshippeth  it,  and  prayeth  unto  it,  and  saith.  Deliver 
me;  for  thou  art  my  god.  They  have  not  known  nor  understood: 
for  he  hath  shut  their  eyes,  that  they  cannot  see;  and  their  hearts, 
that  they  cannot  understand.  And  none  considereth  in  his  heart, 
neither  is  there  knowledge  nor  understanding  to  say,  I  have  burned 
part  of  it  in  the  fire ;  yea,  also  I  have  baked  bread  upon  the  coals 


SernioH  preached  at  Leghorn. 


607 


I  have  roasted  tlesh,  and  eaten  it :  and  shall  I  make  the 
sidue  thereof  an  abomination  ?  shall  I  fall  down  to  the  stock  of 
tree?' 

In  such  circumstances  as  these  for  a  man  to  declare  for  frec- 
linking,  and  disengage  himself  from  the  yoke  of  idolatry,  were 
loing  honour  to  Human  Nature,  and  a  work  well  becoming  the 
;t  assertors  of  Reason.  But  in  a  Church  where  our  adoration 
directed  to  the  Supreme  Being,  and  (to  say  the  least)  where  is 
ithing  in  the  object  or  manner  of  our  worship  that  contradicts 
«  light  of  nature,  there,  under  the  pretence  of  Free-thinking  to 
il  at  the  Religious  institutions  of  their  country,  sheweth  an 
indistioguishing  mind  that  mistakes  the  spirit  of  opposition  for 
freedom  of  thought.     But  to  return. 

Suitable  to  their  Religion  were  the  lives  of  our  ancestors :  our 
ancestors  I  say,  who  before  the  coming  of  our  blessed  Saviour 
Rtade  part  of  the  Gentiles,  the  rest  of  the  heathen  world,  sate  in 
darkness  and  the  shadow  of  death.  In  those  days  of  ignorance 
and  estrangement  from  the  living  God,  it  is  hardly  to  be  conceived 
what  a  deluge  of  licence  and  iniquity  overwhelmed  mankind.  It  , 
cannot  indeed  be  denied  that  vice  is  too  common  amongst  us 
DOW,  but,  however,  virtue  is  in  some  reputation.  The  frequent 
denouncing  of  God's  judgments  against  sinners  hath  some  effect 
00  our  consciences;  and  even  the  reprobate  who  hath  extinguished 
in  himself  all  notion  of  Religion  is  oft  restrained  by  a  sense  of 
decency  and  shame  from  those  actions  which  are  held  in  abhor- 
rence by  all  good  Christians,  whereas  in  the  times  of  Gentilism, 
men  were  given  up  to  work  uncleanness  with  greediness.  Lust 
and  intemperance  knew  no  bounds,  and  our  forefathers  acted  those 
crimes  publicly  and  without  remorse  from  which  they  apprehended 
neither  shame  nor  punishment.  St.  Paul  gives  us  a  catalogue  of 
their  crimes  when  he  tells  us  they  *  were  filled  with  all  unrighteous- 
ness, fornication,  wickedness,  covetousncss,  maliciousness;  fiill  of 
envy,  murder,  debate,  deceit,  malignity ;  whisperers,  backbiters, 
haters  of  God,  despiteful,  proud,  boasters,  inventors  of  evil  things, 
dist^dient  to  parents;  without  understanding,  covenant-breakers, 
without  natural  aftt;ction,  implacable,  unmerciful.' 

What  a  frightful  picture  of  our  forefathers;  but  we  may  still  ] 
see  too  much  of  it  among  ourselves  not  to  believe  it  true.  Now  \ 
when  so  thick  a  darkness  had  covered  the  world,  how  expedient 


6o8  Snnion  preached  at  Lcgfwm. 

was  it  that  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  should  arise  with  healing  oo 
his  wings !  When  the  general  state  of  mankind  was  so  deplorahk 
how  necessary  was  it  that  Christ  Jesus  should  come  into  the  worU 
to  save  sinners ! 

And  the  like  necessity  of  a  Saviour  will  appear  aJso  with  rela- 
tion to  the  Jews,  if  we  reflect  on  their  state.  These  were  indeed 
the  chosen  people  of  God,  who,  as  such,  had  vouchsafed  to  them 
many  extraordinary  miracles,  prophecies,  and  revelations.  Thej 
had  a  law  imparted  to  them  from  Heaven,  together  with  frequent 
assurances  and  instances  of  the  Divine  protection  so  long  as  thef 
continued  in  the  observance  of  it  But  we  must  consider  in  the 
first  place  that  the  ancient  ceremonial  Law  was  a  yoke  whidi,  as 
the  Apostle  tells  the  Jews  of  his  time,  neither  they  nor  their 
fathers  were  able  to  bear.  Their  circumcision,  sacrifices^  purifi- 
cations, abstaining  from  meats  and  the  like  ordinances,  were 
burdensome  and  carnal ;  such  as  in  themselves  could  not  perfect 
or  regenerate  the  soul.  And  are  therefore  to  be  considered  as 
having  a  further  view,  inasmuch  as  they  were  types  and  prefigunu 
tions  or  the  Messiah  and  the  Spiritual  Religion  that  he  was  to 
introduce  into  the  world.  And  as  proofs  that  this  ritual  way  of 
worship  accommodated  to  the  carnal  and  stifFnccked  Jews  was  not 
the  most  acceptable  to  God,  there  occur  several  passages  even  in 
the  Old  Testament.  Thus,  for  example,  in  the  Prophet  Isaiah,  ^To 
what  purpose  is  the  multitude  of  your  sacrifices  unto  me,  saith  the 
Lord  ?  I  am  full  of  the  fet  of  your  burnt  offerings  of  rams  and  of 
the  fat  of  the  fed  beasts.  Bring  no  more  oblations,  incense  is  as 
abomination  unto  me.  The  new  moons  and  sabbaths  I  cannot 
away  with.  Cease  to  do  evil ;  learn  to  do  well.  Seek  judgment, 
relieve  the  oppressed  ^  judge  the  fatherless,  plead  for  the  widow.' 

But,  secondly,  the  moral  Law,  was  not  arrived  to  its  full  per- 
fection under  the  dispensation  of  the  Jews.  They  were  borne  with 
on  many  points  upon  the  account  of  the  hardness  of  their  hearts. 
The  adhering  to  one  and  the  same  wife,  the  forgiving  our  enemies 
and  loving  our  neighbours  as  ourselves,  are  precepts  peculiar  to 
Christianity  ^  To  the  wisdom  of  God  it  did  not  seem  convenient 
that  the  Law  at  first  proposed  to  the  Jews,  should  enjoin  the  most 
heroic  strains  of  charity  or  the  height  and  purity  of  Cliristian  virtue; 
but  rather  by  morals  less  severe,  and  figures  of  things  to  come,  to 

'  [This  statement  requires  modification.     Sec  Lev.  xix.  i8.] 


Sermon  preached  at  Leghorn. 


609 


ire  their  minds  for  the  more  perfect  and  spiritual  doctrine  of 
c  Gospel.  In  regard  to  which  we  may  say  with  the  Apostle, 
at  the  Law  was  a  schoolmaster  to  bring  the  Jews  to  Christ. 
Thirdly,  the  knowledge  of  a  future  state  was  not  so  clearly  and 
Ily  revealed  lo  the  Jews.  These  hopes  do  not  generally  seem  to 
ivc  reached  beyond  the  grave.  Conquests  over  their  enemies, 
;ace  and  prosperity  at  home,  a  land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey. 
bese  and  such  like  temporal  enjoyments  were  the  rewards  Ihey 
ixpectcd  of  their  obedience ;  as  on  the  other  hand  the  evils  com- 
lonly  denounced  against  them  were  plagues,  famines,  captivities, 
id  the  like.  Pursuant  to  which,  we  find  the  Resurrection  to  have 
KB  a  controverted  point  among  the  Jews,  maintained  by  the 
Pharisees,  and  denied  by  the  Sadducees.  So  obscure  and  dubious 
the  revelation  of  another  world  before  life  and  immortality 
irere  brought  to  light  by  the  Gospel. 

We  should  further  consider  that  it  was  in  vain  to  expect 
Ivation  by  the  works  of  the  Law  j  since  it  was  impossible  for 
bucian  nature  to  perform  a  perfect  unsinning  obedience  to  it. 
We  are  told  that  even  the  righteous  man  fells  seven  times  in 
B  day.  Such  is  the  frailty  of  our  nature,  and  so  many  and  various 
arc  the  temptations  which  on  all  sides  assault  us  from  the  world, 
the  flesh,  and  the  devil,  that  we  cannot  live  without  sinning  at 
least  in  word  and  tiiought.  And  the  unavoidable  reward  of  sin 
was  death.  Do  this  and  live  was  the  condition  of  the  old  cove- 
nant; and  seeing  thai  by  the  corruption  of  our  nature  derived 
from  our  first  parents  we  were  unable  to  fulfil  that  condition,  we 
must  without  another  covenant  have  been  all  necessarily  included 
under  the  sentence  of  death.  Agreeably  to  which  St.  Paul  saith, 
*  As  many  as  are  of  the  works  of  the  Law  are  under  the  curse. 
For  it  is  written,  Cursed  is  every  one  that  continueth  not  in  all 
the  things  that  are  written  in  the  book  of  the  Law  to  do  them.' 

You  sec,  from  what  has  been  said,  the  miserable  forlorn  con- 
dition oi  all  mankind,  both  Jews  and  Gentiles,  in  former  ages; 
and  we  should  still  have  continued  in  the  same  state  of  sin  and 
estrangement  from  God,  were  it  not  that '  the  day-spring  from  on 
high  hath  visited  us* — were  it  not  for  Him  of  whom  Isaiah  fore- 
told:  'The  Gentiles  shall  come  to  Thy  light,  and  the  kings  of  the 
Gentiles  to  Thy  rising'— the  ever  blessed  Son  of  God,  who  came 
down  upon  earth  to  be  our  Teacher,  our  Redeemer,  our  Mediator. 


I 


6 1  o  Sermon  preached  at  Leghorn. 

[Well,  therefore,  may  we  be  filled  with  gladness  and  cry  out  with 
the  prophet,  *Sing,  O  heaven,  and  rejoice,  O   earth,  and  break 
forth  into  singing,  O  ye  mountains !  for  the  Lord  hath  comforted 
His  people  and  will  have  mercy  on  His  afflicted.*]     How  just 
an  occasion  have  we   here  of  comfort  and  joy.      What  if  wc 
were  by  nature  ignorant  and  brutish,  we  have  now  the  glorious 
light  of  the  Gospel  shining  among  us,  and  instead  of  worshipjnog 
stocks  and  stones  are  brought  to  adore  the  living  God?   What 
if  we  are  encompassed  with  snares  and  afflictions  in  this  present 
world  ?   We  have  the  grace  of  God  and  the  blessed  hope  of  eternity 
to  strengthen  and  support  us.     In  fine,  what  if  wc  have  merited 
the  wrath  of  God  and  vengeance  of  heaven  by  our  sins  and  trans- 
gressions, since  this  is  a  faithful  saying  and  worthy  of  all  aocep 
tation  that  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinneis? 
which  words,  that   you   may  the   better  understand,  it  will  be 
necessary  to  explain  unto  you.     The  second  point  pressed,  vit 
how  and  in  what  sense  Jesus  Christ  promotes  the   salvation  of 
sinners.     And  this  He  has  done  in  four  respects.     Firstly,  by  His 
preaching;   secondly,   by  His   example;   thirdly,  by  His  death; 
and  fourthly,  by  His  intercession. 

First,  I  say,  by  His  preaching.  As  there  is  nothing  which 
renders  us  so  acceptable  to  God  as  a  good  life,  which  consists  in  j 
the  practice  of  virtue  and  holiness,  it  was  highly  necessary,  in  I 
order  to  put  us  in  a  capacity  of  salvation,  that  our  duty  should  be  I 
plainly  laid  before  us,  and  recommended  in  the  most  powerful 
and  persuasive  manner.  This  has  been  effectually  performed  by 
our  Lord  and  His  apostles,  who  went  about  preaching  the  Word  of 
God,  and  exhorting  all  men  to  forsake  their  evil  ways  and  foUot 
after  righteousness,  to  become  just  and  sober,  and  chaste  and 
charitable;  in  a  word,  to  discharge  all  the  several  offices  and 
duties  of  life  in  a  blameless  and  exemplary  manner.  Jew  and 
Gentile  are  equally  called  upon  in  the  Gospel,  and  morality  is 
there  advanced  to  a  degree  of  purity  and  perfection  beyond  eithff 
the  Law  of  Moses  or  the  precepts  of  the  wisest  of  the  heathen. 
And  that  no  motives  or  engagements  to  the  observation  of  it 
may  be  wanting,  we  have,  on  the  one  hand,  the  highest  and  most 
inestimable  rewards,  and  on  the  other  hand,  the  sorest  and  most 
terrific  punishments  proposed  to  us.  But  as  example  is  oftentimes 
found  no  less  instructive  than  precept,  and  to  the  end  all  methods 


Sermon  preached  at  Leghorn.  6 1 1 

might  be  employed  to  rescue  man  from  the  slavery  of  sin  and 
death,  our  blessed  Lord  condescended  to  take  upon  Him  human 
nature,  that  He  might  become  a  living  example  of  all  those 
virtues  which  we  are  required  to  practise.  His  whole  life  was 
spent  in  acts  of  charity,  meekness,  patience,  and  every  good  work. 
He  has  not  only  told  us  our  duty,  but  also  showed  us  how  to  per- 
form it,  having  made  Himself  a  perfect  pattern  of  holitiess  for  our 
imitation.  And  this  is  the  second  method  whereby  Christ  con^ 
tributes  to  save  sinners. 

In  the  next  place  we  are  to  observe,  that  as  our  blessed  Saviour 
omitted  no  instance  of  love  and  goodness  to  mankind,  not  only 
His  life,  but  His  death  also,  was  of  the  last  importance  to  our 
redemption.  Such  is  the  infinite  purity  and  holiness  of  Almighty 
God,  that  we  could  not  hope  for  any  reconciliation  with  Him,  so 
long  as  our  souls  were  stained  by  the  filthiness  and  pollution  of 
sin.  But  neither  could  rivers  of  the  blood  of  rams  and  bulls, 
or  of  our  own  tears,  have  been  sufficient  to  wash  out  those  stains. 
It  is  in  the  unalterable  nature  of  things  that  sin  be  followed  by 
punishment.  For  crimes  cried  aloud  to  Heaven  for  vengeance, 
and  the  justice  of  God  made  it  necessary  to  inflict  it.  [Behold, 
then,  mankind  at  an  infinite  distance  from  Heaven,  and  happi-« 
ness  oppressed  with  a  load  of  guilt,  and  condemned  to  a  punish- 
ment equal  to  the  guilt,  which  was  infinitely  heightened  and 
aggravated  by  the  Majesty  of  the  offended  God !  Such  was  our 
forlorn,  hopeless  condition,]  when  lo !  the  Lamb  of  God,  the  Eter- 
nal Son  of  the  Father,  clothed  Himself  with  flesh  and  blood  that  He 
may  tread  the  wine-press  of  the  wrath  of  God,  and  oflFer  Himself 
a  ransom  for  us.  He  sheds  His  own  blood  that  He  may  purge  away 
our  sins,  and  submits  to  the  shameful  punishment  of  the  Cross, 
that  by  His  death  He  may  open  to  us  the  door  to  eternal  life. 

Lastly,  having  broke  asunder  the  bands  of  death,  and  triumphed 
over  the  grave.  He  ascended  to  Heaven,  where  He  now  sitteth  at 
the  right  hand  of  God,  ever  making  intercession  for  us.  To  this 
purpose  speaks  the  apostle  to  the  Hebrews,  in  the  following 
manner: — 'Christ  Jesus,  because  He  continueth  for  ever,  hath 
an  unchangeable  priesthood.  Wherefore,  also,  He  is  able  to  save 
them  to  the  uttermost  that  come  unto  God  by  Him,  seeing  He 
ever  liveth  to  make  intercession  for  them.'  And  should  not  this 
be  an  occasion  of  unspeakable  comfort  to  us,  that  we  have  the  Son 

R  r  2 


6 1 2  Sermon  preached  at  Leghorn. 

of  God  for  our  advocate,  even  His  ever-blessed  Son,  whom  He 
hath  appointed  Heir  of  all  things,  who  hath  so  great  love  for  men 
that  He  never  ceases  to  plead  our  cause  and  solicit  our  pardon. 
And  this  is  the  fourth  way  whereby  our  Lord  makes  good  tiic 
words  of  my  text,  that  this  is  a  faithful  saying  and  worthy  of  all 
acceptation,  that  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners. 
It  appears,  then,  from  what  hath  been  said,  that  sinners  shall  be 
saved ;  and,  if  so,  may  we  not  sin  on  in  hopes  that  we  shall  go  to 
Heaven  when  we  can  sin  no  longer?  The  lives  of  too  many 
Christians  would  persuade  us  they  entertain  such  thoughts  as  these. 
But  let  us  not  deceive  ourselves,  and  abuse  the  method  whidi  the 
good  providence  of  God  designed  for  our  salvation,  cross  the  grst- 
cious  designs  of  Heaven,  and  treasure  up  to  ourselves  vengeance 
against  the  day  of  wrath.  Can  we  be  so  foolish  as  to  think  our 
holy  Redeemer  led  a  life  of  spotless  innocence  upon  earth,  in  order 
to  procure  us  a  licence  to  taste  the  pleasures  of  sin  ?  Must  He  be 
humble  that  we  may  be  proud  and  arrogant?  Must  He  live  in 
poverty  that  we  may  make  a  god  of  riches,  and  heap  them  together 
by  avarice  and  extortion  ?  Shall  the  Son  of  God  give  His  body  to 
be  crucified  that  we  may  pamper  our  flesh  in  drunkenness  and 
gluttony  ?  Or  can  we  hope  that  He  will  without  ceasing  intercede 
with  the  Father  in  behalf  of  those  wretches  who,  instead  of  pray- 
ing for  this  mercy  at  His  hands,  are  perpetually  blaspheming  His 
name  with  oaths  and  curses  ? 

But  you  will  say,  are  not  these  sinners  saved  ?  I  answer,  it  is 
true  sinners  are  saved.  But  not  those  who  tread  under  foot  the 
Son  of  God,  and  do  despite  to  the  Spirit  of  Grace.  Christ  Jesus 
came  into  the  world  to  save  repenting  sinners.  If  we  will  be 
saved,  we  must  do  something  on  our  parts  also,  and,  without  rely- 
ing altogether  on  the  sufferings  and  merits  of  Christ,  work  out  our 
own  salvation  with  fear  and  trembling. 

The  good  tidings  of  the  Gospel  amount,  in  short,  to  no  more 
than  this :  that  we  shall  be  saved  if  we  repent  and  believe !  But 
we  must  not  suppose  that  this  repentance  consists  only  in  a  sorrow 
for  sin  j  there  must  be  a  forsaking  of  our  evil  ways,  a  reformation 
and  amendment  of  life.  Neither  must  it  be  thought  that  the  faith 
here  required  is  an  empty,  notional  belief.  *  Thou  believest,*  saith 
St.  James,  'thou  doest  well:  the  devils  also  believe  and  tremble; 
but  wilt  thou  know,  O  vain  man,  that  faith  without  works  is  dead.' 


Sermon  preac/ied  at  Leghorn. 


b^i 


lie  faith  of  a  true  Christian  must  be  a  lively  feith  that  sanctifies 
c  heart,  and  shows  itself  in  the  fruits  of  the  Spirit, 
By  nature  we  are  vessels  of  wrath  polluted  with  the  original 
wmption  of  our  first  parents  and  our  own  manifold  transgressions, 
lereas  by  the  grace  of  God,  showed  forth  in  Ciirist  Jesus,  our 
LS  are  pui^ed  away,  and  our  sincere,  though  imperfect  en- 
avotirs  arc  accepted.  But  without  these  sincere  endeavours, 
'ithout  this  lively  Faith  and  unfeigned  repentance,  to  hope  for 
Jvation  is  senseless.  We  cannot  be  guilty  of  a  more  fatal 
listake  than  to  think  the  Christian  warfare  a  thing  to  be  pcr- 
irmed  with  ease  and  indifference.  It  is  a  work  of  difficulty  that 
equires  our  utmost  care  and  attention,  and  must  be  made  the 
lain  business  of  our  lives.  We  must  pluck  out  the  right  eye,  cut 
F  the  right  hand,  that  is,  subdue  our  darling  affections,  cast  off 
IT  beloved  and  bosom  sin,  if  we  have  a  mind  to  enter  into  the 
ingdom  of  heaven.     He  that  will  partake  of  the  benefits  of  the 

iospel,  must  endeavour  to  live  up  to  the  precepts  of  it — to  be  pure 
nd  innocent  in  mind  and  manners,  to  love  God  with  all  his 
and  with  all  his  strength,  and  his  neighbour  as  himself, 
icre  must  be  no  hatred,  no  malice,  no  slandering,  no  envy,  no 
xifc  in  a  regenerate  Christian.  But  all  love,  joy,  peace,  long- 
iffcring,  gentleness,  goodness,   meekness,  the   most  ardent  and 

iffiisive  charity,  ever  abounding  in  good  works,  and  promoting  his 
lighbour's  interest  as  his  own.  You  see  how  great  obligations 
IT  profession  lays  upon  us.     How  far  short  of  these  do  the  pcr- 

Srtnances  of  most  men  fall !  What,  I  beseech  you,  does  the 
iety  of  a  modern  Christian  commonly  amount  to  ?     He  is  indeed 

ipntent  to  retain  the  name  of  that  profession  into  which  he  was 
Imitted  by  baptism,  but  without  taking  any  care  to  fulfil  his 
ipiismal  vow,  or,  it  may  be,  without  so  much  as  ever  thinking  of 
,  He  may,  perhaps,  in  a  fit  of  the  spleen,  or  sickness,  or  old 
;e,  when  he  has  no  longer  any  ability  or  temptation  to  sin, 

ntertain  some  slight  thoughts  of  turning  to  God  while  the  strength 
id  flower  of  his  age  is  spent  in  the  service  of  Satan.     Or  some- 

iines  he  may  give  a  penny  to  a  poor  naked  wretch  that  he  may 
;lieve  himself  from  the  pain  of  seeing  a  miserable  object^.     On 

lie  tFrvfce  of  the  I 
fir  from  Himr 


6 1 4  Sermon  preached  at  Leghorn. 

a  Sunday,  in  compliance  with  the  custom  of  our  country,  we  dress 
ourselves  and  go  to  church.   But  what  is  it  that  folks  do  in  churdi? 
When  they  have  paid  their  compliments  to  one  another,  they  lift 
up  their  hands  and  eyes  to  God,  but  their  hearts  are  far  from  Him! 
Prayers  and  thanksgivings  are  now  over,  without  zeal  or  fervour, 
without  a  sense  of  our  own  littleness  and  wants,  or  the  majesty  of  that 
God  whom  we  adore.     The  warmest  and  most  Seraphic  hymns 
are  pronounced  with  a  cold  indiflFerence,  and  sermons  heard  with- 
out one  resolution  of  being  the  better  for  thern^  or  putting  one 
word  of  them  in  practice.    God  declares  that  He  has  no  pleasure 
in  the  death  of  a  sinner,  but  had  rather  that  he  would  turn  from 
his  wickedness  and  live.    Why  then  will  ye  die  ?     ^  I  have  spread 
out  my  hands,  saith  the  Lord,  all  the  day  to  a  rebellious  people,  a 
people  that  provoketh  me  continually  to  my  face.     I  have  spread 
out  my  hands.'    God,  you  see,  is  desirous  and  earnest  for  our  con- 
version and  ready  to  receive  us !     Why  then  should  we  be  neg- 
ligent in  what   concerns  our  salvation?      And   shall   all   those 
methods  which  God  has  used  to  bring  us  to  Him  be  in  vain? 
Shall  we  frustrate  the  mission  and  sufferings  of  His  well-beloved 
son  ? '     The  infinite  pangs  and  sufferings  that  He  underwent  in  the 
work  of  our  redemption  should,  one  would  think,  soften  the  most 
obdurate  heart,  and  dispose  us  to  suitable  returns  of  love  and  duty. 
The  prophet  Isaiah,  several  hundred  years  before  our  Saviour^s 
birth,  gives  the  following  lively  description  of  His  sufferings:— 
*  He  was  despised,  and  we  esteemed  him  not.     Surely  He  bath 
borne  our  griefs,  and  carried  our  sorrows  :  yet  we  did  esteem  Hini 
stricken,  smitten  of  God,  and  afflicted.     But  He  was  wounded  for 
our  transgressions.  He  was  bruised  for  our  iniquities  :  the  chastis^ 
ment  of  our  peace  was  upon  Him;  and  with  His  stripes  we  arc 
healed.     All  we  like  sheep  have  gone  astray;    we  have  turned 
every  one  to  his  own  way;  and  the  Lord  hath  laid  on  Him  the 
iniquity  of  us  all.     He  was  oppressed,  and  He  was  afflicted,  yet  He 
opened  not  His  mouth :  He  is  brought  as  a  lamb  to  the  slaughter, 
and  as  a  sheep  before  her  shearers  is  dumb,  so  He  openeth  not  His 
mouth.'     And  does  it  seem  a  small  thing  to  you  that  the  blessed 
son  of  God,  by  whom  He  made  the  worlds,  who  is  the  brightness 
of  His  glory  and  the  express  image  of  His  person,  should  quit  the 
happy  mansions  of  Heaven  to  come  down  upon  earth  and  take 
upon  Himself  the  punishment  of  our  sins  ?     That  He  who  couW 


Sermon  preached  at  L  eghorn.  615 

x>mmand  legions  of  angels  should,  for  our  sakes,  subn>it  to  the 
insults  and  scorn  of  the  lowest  of  mankind  ?  Figure  to  yourselves 
His  head  dishonoured  with  an  ignominious  crown  of  thorns,  His 
ace  spit  upon,  and  buffeted  by  an  impious  and  profane  rabble ! 
His  flesh  torn  with  scourges,  His  hands  and  feet  pierced  with 
nails,  blood  and  water  streaming  from  His  side  !  His  ears 
HTOunded  with  taunts  and  reproaches!  And  that  mouth  which 
ittered  the  glad  tidings  of  salvation,  filled  with  gall  and  vinegar !  in 
ine,  figure  to  yourselves,  His  sacred  body  hung  upon  a  cross,  there  to 
expire  in  lingering  torments  between  thieves  and  malefactors ! 
But  who  can  figure  to  himself,  or  what  imagination  is  able  to  com- 
prehend the  unutterable  agony  that  He  felt  within  when  the  cup  of 
the  fury  of  God  was  poured  out  upon  His  soul,  and  His  spirit 
laboured  under  the  guilt  of  all  mankind  ?  Can  we  think  on  these 
things,  which  are  all  the  efi^ects  of  our  sins,  and  at  the  same  time 
be  untouched  with  any  sense  or  compunction  for  them  ?  Shall  the 
sense  of  those  crimes  that  made  our  Saviour  sweat  drops  of  blood 
be  unable  to  extort  a  single  tear  from  us?  When  the  earth 
quakes,  and  the  rocks  are  rent,  the  skies  are  covered  with  dark- 
ness, and  all  nature  is  troubled  at  the  passion  of  the  Lord  of  Life, 
shall  man  alone  remain  stupid  and  insensible  ? 

But  if  we  are  not  generous  and  grateful  enough  to  be  affected 
with  the  sufferings  of  our  Saviour,  let  us,  at  least,  have  some 
r^ard  to  our  own,  and  bethink  ourselves  in  this  our  day  of  the 
heavy  punishment  that  awaits  every  one  of  us  who  continues  in  a 
course  of  sin !  Let  us  bethink  ourselves  that  in  a  few  days  the 
healthiest  and  bravest  of  us  all  shall  lie  mingled  with  the  common 
dust !  and  our  souls  be  disposed  of  by  an  irreversible  decree,  that 
no  tears,  no  humiliation,  no  repentance,  can  avail  on  the  other 
side  of  the  grave.  But  it  is  now  in  our  power  to  avoid  the  tor- 
ments of  the  place  where  the  worm  dieth  not,  and  the  fire  is 
not  quenched,  provided  that  we  repent  of  our  sins,  and,  for  the 
time  to  come,  'denying  ungodliness  and  worldly  lusts,  we  live 
soberly  and  godly  in  this  present  world,  looking  for  that  blessed 
hope  and  the  glorious  appearance  of  the  great  God  and  our  Saviour 
Jesus  Christ,  who  gave  Himself  for  us  that  He  may  redeem  us 
from  all  iniquity,  and  purify  unto  Himself  a  peculiar  people 
zealous  of  good  works/ 

That  all  we  here  present  may  be  partakers  of  this  redemption. 


6 1 6  Sermon  preached  at  Leghorn. 

and  numbered  among  this  peculiar  people,  God,  erf*  His  infinite 
mercy,  grant ;  to  whom  be  ascribed  all  honour,  praise,  power,  and 
dominion,  now  and  for  evermore ! 


III. 

PREACHED  AT  LEGHORN'.     [NO   DATK] 

St.  John  xiii.  35. 
hy  this  shall  all  men  know  that  ye  art  my  disciples^  if  ye  bane  love  one  to  amtber. 

To  a  man  who  considers  things  with  candour  and  attention 
there  are  not  wanting  on  all  sides  invincible  proofe  of  the  divinity 
of  the  Christian  religion.  So  many  prophecies  accomplished^  so 
many  and  so  stupendous  miracles  wrought  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  such  a  constant  uninterrupted  tradition  sealed  with  tiie 
blood  of  so  many  thousand  martyrs,  such  a  wonderful  spread  and 
propagation  of  it  without  human  force  or  artifice,  and  against 
the  most  powerful  opposition  from  the  subtilty  and  rage  of  its 
adversaries :  these  things,  I  say,  with  the  sublimity  of  its  doctrines 
and  the  simplicity  of  its  rites,  can  leave  not  a  doubt  of  its  coming 
from  God  in  a  mind  not  sullied  with  sin,  not  blinded  with  pre- 
judice, and  not  hardened  with  obstinacy. 

But  among  all  the  numerous  attestations  to  the  divinity  of  our 
most  holy  Faith,  there  is  not  any  that  carries  with  it  a  more 
winning  conviction  than  that  which  may  be  drawn  from  the 
sweetness  and  excellency  of  the  Christian  morals.  There  runs 
throughout  the  Gospels  and  Epistles  such  a  spirit  of  love,  gentle- 
ness, charity,  and  good-nature,  that  as  nothing  is  better  calculated 
to  procure  the  happiness  of  mankind,  so  nothing  can  carry  with 
it  a  surer  evidence  of  its  being  derived  from  the  common  Father 
of  us  all.  Herein  that  paternal  love  of  God  to  men  is  visible, 
that  mutual  charity  is  what  we  are  principally  enjoined  to  practise. 
He  doth  not  require  from  us  costly  sacrifices,  magnificent  temples^ 
or  tedious  pilgrimages,  but  only  that  we  should  love  one  another. 
This   is   everywhere  recommended   to  us  in  the  most  practical 

'  Preached  at  Leghome.  .  .  .  Brother  Henry  Berkeley. 


Sermon  preaclud  at  Leghorn. 


617 


J  earnest  manner  both  by  our  Saviour  and  His  apostles.  And 
len  our  blessed  Lord  had  sf>ent  His  life  upon  earth  in  acts  of 
irity  and  goodness,  and  was  going  to  put  a  period  to  it  by  the 
ist  amazing  instance  of  love  to  mankind  that  was  ever  shown, 
;  leaves  this  precept  as  a  legacy  to  His  disciples,  '  A  new  com- 
ondment  1  give  unto  you  that  you  love  another,  as  I  have  loved 
J  that  you  also  love  one  another.  By  this  shall  all  men  know 
it  you  are  my  disciples,  if  you  have  love  one  to  another.'  Mark 
ith  what  earnestness  and  emphasis  our  Lord  inculcates  this 
mandment.  In  the  compass  of  a  few  verses  He  repeats  it 
[re.  He  invites  us  by  His  own  example  to  the  practice  of  it, 
to  bind  it  on  our  conscience  makes  our  obedience  in  this 
(int  the  mark  of  our  calling.  *  By  this,'  says  He,  'shall  all  men 
low  that  you  are  my  disciples,  if  you  have  love  one  to  another.' 
1  treating  of  which  words  I  shall  observe  this  method : — 
First,  I  shall  endeavour  to  make  you  sensible  of  the  nature  and 
iportance  of  this  duty ; 

Secondly,  I  shall  lay  before  you  the  good  effects  it  is  attended 
ith  when  duly  practised;  and,  in  the  last  place,  I  shall  add 
me  further  considerations  to  persuade  you  to  the  observation 
'it. 

First,  then,  I  am  to  show  the  nature  and  importance  of  this 
ity.  If  you  are  minded  duly  to  put  in  practice  this  evangelical 
rtuc  of  charity,  you  must  preserve  and  cherish  in  your  minds 
rm  affectionate  love  towards  your  neighbours.  It  will  not 
iffice  that  you  have  an  outward  civility  and  complaisance  for 
tch  other;  this  may  be  good  breeding,  but  there  is  something 
ore  required  to  make  you  good  Christians,  There  must  be  an 
iward,  sincere,  disinterested  atlection  that  cakes  root  in  the 
tart  and  shows  itself  in  acts  of  kindness  and  benevolence.  '  My 
ttlc  children,'  saith  St.  John,  'let  us  not  love  in  word  but  in 
ped  and  truth.' 
In  the  Gospel  use  of  the  word  we  are  all  brothers,  and  we  must 
JVC  tt^ether  as  becomes  brethren.  Is  a  poor  Christian  naked 
r  himgry,  you  must  in  proportion  to  your  ability  be  ready  to 
loath  and  feed  him;  'for,'  says  the  apostle,  'whoso  hath  this 
rorld's  good,  and  seeth  his  brother  have  need,  and  shutteth  up 
lis  bowels  of  compassion  from  him,  how  dwcllcth  the  love  of 
jod  in  him  ?'    Does  your  brother  labour  under  any  bodily  infirmity. 


6 1 8  Sermon  preached  at  Leghorn. 

or  is  he  likely  to  incur  a  danger  when  it  is  in  your  power  to  re- 
lieve or  protect  him,  you  must  do  it  cheerfully  without  grudpn 
the  trifling  expense  or  trouble  it  may  put  you  to,  for  « great  is 
your  reward  in  heaven/  Does  he  take  ill  courses,  does  he  harden 
himself  in  habits  of  sin,  is  he  led  astray  by  the  conversation  and 
example  of  wicked  men,  is  he  remiss  in  observing  the  ordinances 
of  religion,  or  does  he  show  a  contempt  of  sacred  things ;  ^  restore 
such  a  one  in  the  spirit  of  meekness,  considering  thyself,  lest 
thou  also  be  tempted.  Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens,  and  so 
fulfil  the  law  of  Christ/  When  your  nei^bour  is  in  flourishing 
circumstances  you  should  rejoice  at  his  prosperity,  and  instead 
of  looking  on  him  with  an  envious  eye,  be  well  pleased  to  see 
him  thrive  in  this  world  and  reap  the  fruits  of  an  honest  industry. 
Or  in  case  his  affairs  take  an  unhappy  turn,  you  should  be 
generous  enough  to  feel  another's  sufferings,  and  employ  your 
credit  or  interest  to  support  the  sinking  fortune  of  an  hcmest 
man.  Lastly,  instead  of  taking  a  diabolical  pleasure  in  hearing 
the  fiaults  of  other  men  aggravated  or  blazed  abroad^  you  must  be 
delighted  to  hear  their  virtues  celebrated  and  placed  in  a  public 
light  for  the  encouragement  and  imitation  of  others.  We  should 
be  slow  to  believe,  displeased  to  hear,  and  always  averse  from 
propagating  any  scandalous  stories  to  the  disparagement  of  our 
neighbours.  If  they  are  false  to  spread  or  countenance  them  is 
the  highest  injustice,  and  if  they  are  true  it  may  be  called  the 
highest  cruelty.  It  is  not  doing  as  you  would  be  done  by  to  draw 
the  secret  failings  of  your  neighbours  into  the  full  view  of  the 
world ;  it  is  a  barbarous,  savage  joy  that  you  take  in  discovering 
his  sins  and  imperfections;  it  is  a  cruelty  not  only  to  him  but 
likewise  to  other  men,  inasmuch  as  vicious  examples  made  public 
strengthen  the  party  of  sinners,  spread  the  contagion  of  vice,  and 
take  off  from  the  horror  of  it.  And  yet  by  a  base  malignity  of 
temper,  men  are  for  the  most  part  better  pleased  with  satyr  than 
panegyric,  and  they  can  behold  with  much  greater  satisfiaction 
the  reputation  of  another  stab'd  and  torn  by  the  venemous*  tongues 
of  slanderers  and  detractors  than  sett*  off  to  advantage  by  the 
recital  of  his  good  actions. 

It  were  an  endless  task  to  lay  before  you  all  the  passages  in  the 
New  Testament  where  this  duty  of  charity  is  recommended  to  our 


*    SIC. 


Sermon  preached  at  L  eghorn.  619 

practice^  it  is  in  every  page  insisted  on  as  the  principal,  the 
essential,  the  distinguishing  part  of  the  Christian  religion.  It 
is  represented  as  the  great  scope  and  design  of  our  Saviour  and 
His  apostles  preaching  in  the  world.  *For  this/  says  St.  John, 
*  is  the  message  that  you  have  heard  from  the  beginning,  that  ye 
should  love  one  another.'  It  is  sett  forth  as  the  sum  and  perfec- 
tion of  the  law.  Thus  Saint  Paul  says  to  the  Romanes,  '  He  that 
loveth  another  hath  fulfilled  the  law/  And  our  blessed  Lord  Him- 
self hath  declared  unto  us  that  on  the  love  of  God  and  our  neigh- 
bour hang  all  the  law  and  the  prophets.  Certainly  'tis  inculcated 
and  bound  upon  the  conscience  as  that  without  which  all  the 
spiritual  gifts  and  performances  are  of  no  effect. 

Though  you  could  speak  with  the  tongues  of  men  and  angels, 
though  you  had  the  gift  of  prophecy  and  understood  all  mysteries 
and  all  knowledge,  and  though  you  had  all  faith  so  that  you  could 
remove  mountains,  and  have  no  charity,  if  you  will  believe  the 
apostle  you  are  nothing.  Nay,  though  you  give  all  your  goods 
to  feed  the  poor,  and  though  you  give  your  body  to  be  burned, 
and  have  not  charity,  it  profiteth  nothing.  Numberless  are  the 
like  passages  in  the  holy  Scripture  which  enforce  this  duty  in  the 
strongest  and  most  urgent  terms.  How  careful  then  ought  we 
to  be  to  understand  this  main  point,  and  how  diligent  to  put  it 
in  practice*. 

This  charity,  without  which  it  is  vain  to  hope  for  salvation, 
is  understood  by  too  many  to  consist  only  in  bestowing  some 
trifling  part  of  their  fortune  on  their  poor  neighbours,  which  in 
the  expenses  of  the  year  is  never  felt.  But  by  the  words  last  cited 
from  St.  Paul  you  may  see  that  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to  give 
all  his  goods  to  the  poor  and  yet  want  charity.  That  indeed  is 
a  laudable  part  or  rather  effect  of  charity,  but  it  does  not  complete 
the  entire  nature  of  iL  To  the  end  you  may  not  be  mistaken 
in  this,  take  the  following  description  of  it  from  the  same  inspired 
author :  '  Charity  sufFereth  long,  and  is  kind ;  charity  envieth  not  ^ 
charity  vaunteth  not  itself,  is  not  puffed  up,  doth  not  behave  itself 
unseemly,  seeketh  not  her  own,  is  not  easily  provoked,  thinketh 

»  On  the  opposite  page  of  the  MS.  there  of  charity,  it  nevertheless  cannot  be  denied 

is  the  following  passage,  without  any  mark  to  be  a  part  or  branch  thereof,  or  rather  an 

oi  reference : — *  But  altho'  the  giving  of  our  outward  and  visible  effect  of  that  inward 

goods  to  the  poor  be,  not  that  which  alone  grace  which  is  the  life  of  a  true  [member  of 

constitutes  and  comprehends  the  true  nature  Christ's  mystical  body]  Christian. 


620  SerfMon  preached  at  Leghorn. 

no  evil,  rejoiccth  not  in  iniquity,  but  rejoiceth  in  the  tnith; 
beareth  all  things,  hopeth  all  things,  endureth  all  things.'  Wbat 
then  shall  we  say  of  those  Christians  who  envy  the  prosperity 
of  other  men,  who  take  fire  at  the  least  provocation,  and  are  so 
far  from  suffering  long,  that  they  are  for  revenging  the  smallest 
injury  with  death,  and  cannot  have  satisfaction  for  a  rash  word 
till  they  have  spilled  the  blood  of  him  that  spoke  it.  In  fine,  what 
shall  I  think  of  that  censorious  humour^  that  austere  pride,  that 
sullen,  unsociable  disposition  which  some  people  mistake  for 
religion;  whereas,  on  the  contrary,  gentleness,  good-nature,  and 
humanity  are  so  far  Ax>m  being  inconsistent  with  the  true  spirit 
of  religion,  that  they  are  enjoined  as  the  indispensable  duty  of 
all  who  call  upon  the  name  of  Christ. 

As  men  are  very  apt  to  flatter  themselves  that  God  is  to  be 
put  off  with  any  slight  performance  of  duty,  they  think  that  so 
long  as  they  do  not  rob  or  murder  or  swear  their  neighbour  oat 
of  his  life,  there  is  nothing  more  required  in  order  to  make  them 
charitable.  How  charitable  are  ye  that  are  so  jealous  of  your  own 
interests,  you  that  are  so  punctilious  in  point  of  honor  and 
freedom,  you  that  are  thus  pleased  with  scandal,  that  suck  in  with 
delight  every  idle  report  that  tends  to  discredit  or  blast  the 
reputation  of  your  neighbour,  that  rejoice  in  any  failings  and  are 
[never  happier  than  ?]  that  at  the  expense  of  one  another.  Hear 
what  St.  James  saith,  '  If  any  man  among  you  seem  to  be  religious 
and  bridleth  not  his  tongue,  but  deceiveth  his  own  heart,  this 
man's  religion  is  vain.*  And  if  injurious  words  are  certain  marks 
of  a  reprobate  mind,  how  much  more  so  are  bloody  quarrels,  vexa- 
tious [habits  ?],  with  all  those  hellish  contrivances  to  supplant 
and  destroy  each  other  which  we  see  daily  practised  in  the  world? 

As  men  are  never  wanting  to  excuse  ill  actions  and  palliate 
their  faults  with  one  pretext  or  other,  I  doubt  not  it  is  very 
possible  some  among  you  make  [may]  think  it  a  sufficient  excuse 
for  calumny  and  slander  that  it  is  used  only  to  pass  away  the  time, 
for  mirth's  sake,  and  now  and  then  to  season  conversation.  But 
know,  O  Christian !  that  the  mirth  you  find  in  hearing  and  telling 
malicious  stories,  in  magnifying  every  little  fault  of  your  neigh- 
bour, and  putting  the  worst  interpretation  on  all  his  actions, 
is  a  mirth  unbecoming  your  profession,  it  is  inconsistent  with 
that  charity  without  which  you  cannot  be  saved,  and  however  you 


Sermon  preached  at  Leghorn.  621 

do  these  things  in  jest,  you  will  be  punished  for  them  in 


•  '"^ 


\  ■ 


'.     It  may  perhaps  be  pretended  as  an  excuse  for  the  want  of 
^dhftrity,  that  you  have  to  do  with  men  of  ill  natures,  of  rough  and 
hlBtractable  tempers,  and  who  have  no  charity  themselves  for  other 
^diMBflu    But  what  says  our  Saviour,  <  If  you  love  them  which  love 
Ml,  what  reward  have  you,  do  not  even  the  publicans  the  same  ?' 
-Jknd  surely  it  is  but  just  to  expect  that  you  who  are  instructed 
-  bj  the  example  and  precepts  of  the  Son  of  God,  who  are  animated 
Wxtb  the  blessed  hopes  of  eternity,  who  are  delivered  from  the 
Kigcmtx  of  darkness,  and  called  to  be  partakers  of  the  inheritance 
'  of  the  saints  in  light,  should  practise  a  higher  strain  of  virtue  than 
'  publicans  and  heathens  who  are  destitute  of  all  these  advantages  ? 
But  others  make  free  with  your  reputation,  or  have  injured  you 
in  your  estate  or  person,  and  it  is  reasonable  you  should  make 
reprisals.    But  consider,  O  Christian,  whether  it  be  more  reason- 
aUe  m  such  a  case  by  obeying  the  uneasy,  sinful  motions  of  anger 
and  revenge  to  expose  yourselves  to  the  wrath  of  Almighty  God, 
or  by  laying  hold  of  that  fair  opportunity  which  is  given  you  to 
put  in  practice  these  Christian  virtues  of  meeknes^  patience, 
ibigiving  injuries,  and  returning  good  for  evil;  turning  the  de- 
signed injuries  of  an  enemy  into  the  greatest  blessings  that  could 
befell  you. 

If  we  would  behave  ourselves  as  becomes  the  disciples  of  Christ, 
we  must  open  and  enlarge  our  hearts  towards  the  whole  mass 
of  mankind.  ^Ye  have  heard  that  it  hath  been  said.  Love  thy 
neighbour,  and  hate  thine  enemy.*  Our  Lord  says,  *Love  your 
enemies.'  And  if  we  ought  to  love  our  enemies,  whom  ought  we 
not  to  love?  We  must  therefore  above  all  things  be  sure  to 
preserve  in  our  souls  a  constant  universal  benevolence  which 
extends  itself  to  all  the  sons  of  men.  Our  charity  must  not  be 
limited  to  any  sect  or  party ;  Turk  and  Jew,  infidel  and  idolater, 
and  much  more  the  several  subdivisions  of  Christians  are  to  be 
the  object  of  our  love  and  good  wishes.  It  is  the  unhappiness  and 
reproach  of  Christendom  that  we  are  crumbled  into  so  many  sects 
and  parties  j  but  whatever  grounds  or  pretences  we  may  have  for 
keeping  at  a  distance  from  each  other  in  point  of  opinion,  yet 
for  heaven's  sake  let  us  be  united  in  the  bands  of  love  and  charity. 
Let  us  not  upon  the  [ground  ?]  of  controverted  notions  transgress 


622  Sermon  preacAed  at  Leghorn. 

and  trample  under  foot  the  most  unquestioned  fundamentals  of  re- 
ligion. In  fine,  let  us  carefully  distinguish  between  the  sentiments 
and  the  person  of  our  neighbour,  and  while  we  condemn  the  one 
be  sure  that  we  love  the  other;  ever  remembering  that  charity 
is  the  principal  duty  of  a  Christian,  without  which  all  otiier 
pretensions  to  purity  of  faith  or  sanctity  of  life  avail  nothing 
at  all. 

And,  as  difference  in  opinion  can  never  justify  an  uncharitable 
conduct  towards  those  who  differ  from  us,  so  neither  can  difference 
"of  interests.  My  neighbour  rivals  me  in  point  of  riches  or  honor, 
he  aims  at  the  same  employment  or  carries  on  the  same  trade 
that  I  do,  or  there  is  some  difference  between  us  in  point  of 
money.  In  fine  his  prosperity  interferes  with  mine.  What  then! 
shall  I  therefore  swell  with  malice,  envy,  and  discontent,  and 
instead  of  being  a  child  of  God,  transform  myself  into  a  fiend 
of  hell  ?  We  must  by  all  means  mortify  and  subdue  that  base 
principle  of  self-love  whose  views  are  always  turned  inwards, 
which,  instead  of  prompting  us  to  good  offices  towards  our  neigh- 
bour, will  not  allow  us  to  have  good  wishes  to  any  but  ourselves. 
It  is  interest  that  sets  the  world  together  by  the  ears,  that  makes 
us  break  (?)  with  our  bosom  firiends,  that  fills  our  hearts  with 
jealousy  and  disquiet ;  no  personal  merit,  no  ties  of  consanguinity, 
no  past  obligations,  are  strong  enough  to  oppose  the  resolutions 
that  it  inspires.  So  long  therefore  as  that  continues  the  governing 
principle  of  our  lives  and  actions,  we  cannot  hope  to  be  any  great 
proficients  in  the  necessary  and  essential  duty  of  charity.  Hence 
we  must  learn  to  wean  ourselves  from  our  self-interest,  or  rather 
learn  wherein  our  true  interest  consists. 

And  this  leads  me  to  the  second  point  proposed,  namely,  to 
show  the  good  offices  that  charity  is  attended  with,  and  how  much 
it  conduceth  to  the  interest  of  those  who  practise  it. 

However  mistaken,  men  may  be  too  apt  to  place  their  chiefest 
interest  in  the  slight  pleasures  and  transient  enjoyments  of  this 
life,  in  the  gratification  of  some  passion,  or  the  gaining  of  some 
temporal  advantage,  yet  a  man  who  considers  things  with  any 
fairness  or  impartiality  will  be  easily  convinced  that  his  chief 
interest  consists  in  obeying  Almighty  God,  in  conforming  his  life 
and  actions  to  the  will  and  command  of  his  Creator  who  first  gave 
him  being  and  still  continues  to  preserve  it,  whose  free  gift  are 


Sermon  preached  at  Leghorn.  623 

the  good  things  he  can  enjoy,  and  who  has  promised  to  reward 
r  obedience  in  this  life  with  eternal  happiness  hereafter®. 
But  because  the  spiritual  nature  of  God,  though  most  near  and 
[mediately  operating  on  our  souls  and  bodies,  is  yet  invisible 

our  senses,  and  because  the  riches  of  that  place  where  there 

no  moth  nor  rust,  and  where  thieves  do  not  break  through  and 
!al,  are  placed  at  a  distance  from  our  present  state,  and  that 
en  are  more  powerfully  influenced  by  things  which  are  present  and 
nsible,  I  shall  therefore,  waiving  all  other  considerations,  apply 
yself  to  consider  the  advantages  which  the  practice  of  charity 

attended  with,  and  how  much  it  conduces  to  the  happiness  of 
en  in  this  present  state. 

The  good  eflPects  of  charity  may  be  considered  either  with 
spect  to  public  communities  of  men,  or  with  respect  to  private 
rsons.  As  to  the  first,  the  advantages  of  an  amiable  corre- 
ondence  between  different  nations  are  plainly  to  be  seen  in 
affic  and  commerce  whereby  the  product  of  each  particular  soil 

communicated  to  distant  countries,  useful  inventions  are  made 
»mmon  and  flourish,  and  men  mutually  supply  the  wants  of  each 
her.  But  when  the  spirit  of  ambition  or  revenge  begins  to 
)erate,  when  jealousy  of  each  other's  wealth  and  power  divides 
itions  and  breaks  the  bonds  of  charity,  then  all  those  advantages 
e  interrupted,  and  men  instead  of  promoting  each  other's  benefit, 
•e  employed  in  destroying  one  another.  Whole  provinces  are 
id  waste  ^  cities,  palaces,  and  churches,  the  work  of  many  ages, 
-e  in  an  instant  demolished  and  burnt  to  the  ground :  thousands 
F  widows  and  orphans  are  made  in  one  day ;  and  he  who  makes 
le  greatest  havock  of  his  fellow-Christians  is  esteemed  most 
orthy  of  renown  and  honor.  After  an  infinity  of  rapes,  murders, 
ipines,  sacrileges,  when  fire  and  sword  have  spent  their  rage, 
nd  are  glutted  with  human  blood,  the  dreadful  scene  often  ends 
1  plague  or  famine,  as  the  natural  consequences  of  war.  But, 
las!  we  can  only  bewail  these  things  without  any  hopes  of 
rfbrming  them.  Tne  commands  of  God  are  on  all  sides  forgotten, 
nd  when  two  armies  are  on  the  point  of  engaging,  a  man  would 
e  laughed  at  who  should  put  them  in  mind  of  our  Saviour's  pre- 
cpt,  'By  this  shall  all  men  know  that  ye  are  my  disciples,  if 
e  have  love  one  to  another.' 

*  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  page. 


624  Sermon  preached  at  Leghorn.  • 

But  although  all  orders  of  men  are  involved  in  these  public 
calamities,  yet  few  there  are  in  whose  power  it  is  to  remedy  or 
prevent  them,  whereas  it  is  in  the  power  of  every  one  of  us  to 
avoid  those  infinite  mischiefs  which  arise  in  private  life  from  a 
defect  of  charity. 

As  different  countries  are  by  their  respective  products  fitted  to 
supply  each  other's  wants,  so  the  allwise  providence  of  God  hath 
ordered  that  different  men  are  endowed  with  various  talents, 
whereby  they  are  mutually  enabled  to  assist  and  promote  the 
happiness  of  one  another.  Thus  one  has  health  and  strength  of 
body,  another  enjoys  the  faculties  of  his  mind  in  greater  perfection; 
one  hath  riches,  another  hath  learning.  This  man  is  fitted  for 
a  public  station,  that  for  the  oeconomy  of  a  private  life.  One  man 
is  skilled  in  this  art  or  profession,  another  in  that.  [Note  to  say 
that  in  many  instances  the  single  act,  industry,  or  power  of  every 
one  is  ineffectual  when  the  united  endeavours  of  many  might 
avail.]     There  are  in  the  various  qualifications  panies, 

occasions  by  which  a  man  is  rendered  capable  to  give  or  receive 
assistance  from  his  neighbour.  Hence  it  is  that  men  find  it 
necessary  to  unite  in  friendships  and  societies,  to  do  mutual  good 
offices  and  carry  on  the  same  designs  in  harmony  and  concert 
We  relieve  one  another  in  distress,  we  bear  with  each  other's 
infirmities,  we  study  to  promote  the  advantage  of  each  other ;  that 
is,  in  our  Saviour's  phrase,  *  we  have  love  one  to  the  other.'  And 
so  long  as  we  continue  thus  disposed  peace  and  plenty  abound, 
families  live  comfortably  together,  our  affairs  thrive  and  flourish 
in  the  world,  which  gives  a  blessing  to  our  endeavours ;  every  one 
finds  his  own  interest  in  advancing  that  of  his  neighbour. 

Whereas  the  reverse  of  this  happy  state  must  certainly  be  ex- 
pected  when  men  of  ill  natures  and  uncharitable  tempers  arc 
always  [envying  ?]  the  prosperity  and  thwarting  the  designs  of  eadi 
other,  where  men  endeavour  to  raise  their  own  fortunes  and 
reputations  by  destroying  those  of  their  neighbours,  and  instead 
of  sweet  and  friendly  conversation  entertain  one  another  with 
satyr  and  invectives.  Take  a  view  of  the  greatest  evils  that  afflict 
mankind,  and  you  will  find  that  they  spring  from  the  want  of 
charity.     What  factions  and  cabals,  what  fierce  ments,  what 

dire,  revengeful  ruptures  in  families,  [what  disagree]  ments  be- 
tween friends  and  neighbours  take  their  rise  from  source. 


Sermon  preached  at  Leghorn.  625 

It  is  not  for  nothing  that  our  blessed  Saviour  was  so  instant  in 
recommending  the  of  charity  by  His  preaching  and  example ; 

it  is  not  for  nothing  that  the  holy  apostles  insist  in  almost  every 
page  of  their  epistles  upon  charity  as  the  principal  of  Christian 
virtues,  the  mark  of  our  calling,  the  distinguishing  badge  of  our 
profession.  It  is  for  want  of  this  that  we  see  so  much  poverty, 
so  much  care,  so  much  sorrow,  so  much  bloodshed  in  the  world. 
It  is  for  want  of  this  that  when  we  have  made  peace  at  home, 
we  worry  and  destroy  each  other  at  home ;  that  those  which  have 
escaped  the  [perils  of]  a  war  are  often  thrown  over,  and  the 

blood  which  remained  unspilt  by  the  enemies  of  our  country  is 
too  often  poured  out  to  satiate  the  revenge  of  a  countryman  and 
a  neighbour.  But,  alas !  we  can  only  bewail  thes^  things  without 
any  hope  of  reforming  them;  and  when  two  Christians  are  on  the 
point  of  sacrificing  each  other's  lives  to  a  private  pique,  he  would 
be  laughed  at  who  should  put  them  in  mind  of  our  Saviour's  saying, 
*  By  this  shall  all  men  know  that  ye  are  my  disciples,  if  you  love 
one  another.* 

It  is  most  certain  that  the  practice  of  any  vice  or  the  com- 
mission of  any  moral  crime  is  attended  with  immediate  punish- 
ment in  this  life.  The  infinitely  wise  providence  of  God  hath 
joined  moral  and  [physical  ?]  evil  together.  Som?  inward  uneasiness 
of  mind,  some  outward  pain  of  body,  severe  loss  in  reputation  or 
fortune,  or  the  like,  is  visibly  annexed  to  sin,  to  deter  men  from 
the  practice  of  it.  This  and  the  [vengeance?]  go  to  [show] 
the  sinner  both  here  an  what  he  is  to  expect  hereafter. 

How  true  this  is  with  regard  to  uncharitableness  is  partly  [seen] 
from  what  has  been  already,  of  the  outward  calamities,  both  public 
and  private,  which  it  is  attended  with,  and  it  will  be  more  so 
if  we  consider  the  inward  uneasiness  of  those  passions  which  are 
opposite  to  charity.  How  painfully  does  avarice  vex  and  corrode 
the  soul !  What  a  knawing  [gnawing]  anguish  breaks  the  slum- 
bers and  palls  all  the  enjoyments  of  an  envious  man.  How  is 
it  possible  that  he  should  cat  his  bread  with  pleasure  when  mor- 
tified and  disappointed  at  every  good  event  that  befalls  his  neigh- 
bours. Or  can  there  be  any  joy,  any  repose  in  a  mind  under 
the  visitation  of  rage,  or  that  feels  the  cruel  appetite  of  revenge, 
or  is  ever  haunted  with  ill  wishes  to  others  or  just  fears  for  itself. 
There  is  not  surely  in  nature  a  more  wretched  state  than  that 

VOL.  IV.  s  s 


626 


Sermon  preached  at  Leghorn. 


of  a  perverse,  ill-tempered,  uncharitable  man;  he  is  always  upon 
the  rack ;  his  heart  is  a  perpetual  prey  to  the  most  restless  and 
tormenting  passions.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  can  there  be  any 
state  of  mind  more  happy  and  delightful  than  that  of  the  charitable 
person?  He  looks  on  mankind  as  his  friends,  and  is  therefore 
so  far  from  being  mortified,  that  he  rejoices  at  their  prosperity, 
and  reckons  it  an  addition  to  his  own  good  fortune.  As  be  wishes 
no  harm  to  his  neighbour,  so  he  hath  hopes  of  being  relieved  or 
assisted  by  them  in  any  exigence.  Every  act  of  charity  and  bene- 
ficence carries  its  own  reward  with  it — a  sense  of  pleasing  and 
of  being  acceptable  to  men,  together  with  a  secret  joy  flowing 
from  the  approbation  of  a  good  conscience,  besides  all  which  there 
is  a  certain  peculiar  pleasure  and  [charm]  that  is  the  natural  resalt 
of  a  kind  and  generous  behaviour.  It  is  not  easy  to  say  whether 
a  sweet,  mild,  and  gentle  disposition  contributes  more  to  the 
[joy]  and  satisfaction  of  our  neighbours  or  to  our  own  private 
tranquillity  and  delight,  since  as  the  opposite  passions  ruffle  and 
discompose,  so  charity  and  the  graces  that  attend  it  soothe  and 
rejoice  the  soul :  to  be  free  from  anger,  envy,  and  revenge,  to 
be  always  in  good  humour,  to  delight  in  doing  good  to  mankind, 
is  the  height  of  happiness  upon  earth,  and  approaches  the  nearest 
to  that  of  the  saints  in  heaven "'. 

[I  come  now  to  the  third  thing,  which  was  to  add  some  further 
reflections  to  persuade  you  to  the  offices  of  charity.] 

After  what  has  been  advanced  it  may  seem  needless  to  [insist] 
on  any  further  motives  in  order  to  f)ersuade  you  to  the  practice 
of  a  virtue  which,  as  it  is  the  most  necessary  and  substantial  part 
of  religion,  so  it  is  the  most  directly  calculated  for  the  advantage 
both  of  public  communities  and  private  men.  What  possible 
pretence  can  you  have  for  not  complying  with  an  injunction  so 


^  On  the  opposite  page  of  the  MS.  there 
occurs  the  following  observation ; — *  The 
whole  system  of  rational  beings  may  be 
considered  as  one  family  or  body  politic ; 
and  Providence,  intending  the  good  of  the 
whole,  hath  connected  the  members  together 
by  the  cords  of  a  man,  by  the  common  ties 
of  humanity  and  good  nature,  and  fitted  and 
adjusted  them  to  each  other  for  their  re- 
ciprocal use  and  benefit.' 

N.B. — It  may  interest  some  readers  to 
show  how  careful  Bishop  Berkeley  was  in 
regard  to  his  style  in  writing,  by  printing 


this  xholium,  or  perhaps  intended  additioQ 
to  his  sermon,  exactly  as  it  appears  with  the 
corrections.  The  words  in  brackets  were 
struck  out  by  Bishop  Berkeley : — 

*  The  whole  system  of  rational  beings  may 
be  considered  as  one  society  or  body  politic: 
and  Providence,  intending  the  [common] 
good  of  the  whole,  hath  [adjusted]  connected 
the  members  [one  to  another]  together  by 
the  cords  of  a  man,  by  the  common  ties 
of  humanity  and  good-nature,  and  fitted  and 
adjusted  them  [so  as  to  be]  to  each  other 
for  their  reciprocal  use  and  benefit.* 


Sermon  preached  at  L  eghorn.  627 

excellent,  so  easy  as  this  of  loving  one  another.  Are  you  afraid 
diat  to  fiilfil  any  part  of  the  Christian  [virtues]  might  expose  you 
to  contumely  in  a  vicious  and  ungenerous  world  ?  But  what  age, 
what  nation  is  so  barbarous  as  not  to  honour  a  man  of  distinguished 
diarity  and  benevolence  ?  Are  you  eager  to  enjoy  the  good  things 
of  this  life,  or  too  worldly-minded  to  be  altogether  influenced 
by  the  distant  recompenses  of  that  which  is  to  come  ?  This  duty 
has  been  shown  most  effectually  to  promote  your  present  interests 
in  this  world  ?  Is  there  anything  rigid  and  austere  in  the  exercise 
of  virtues  which  may  deter  you  from  the  practice  [of  vice]  ? 
Behold  the  very  acts  [commanded]  are  pleasant  and  delightful, 
and  what  Solomon  says  of  wisdom  is  also  true  of  charity,  *  Her 
ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  all  her  paths  are  peace/ 

How  can  you  think  on  the  baseness  of  an  uncharitable,  envious 
spirit  and  not  despise  it  ?  How  can  you  reflect  upon  the  mischief, 
the  anxiety,  the  torment  that  it  produces,  and  not  abhor  it  ?  How 
can  you  be  sensible  of  God's  indignation  against  this  vice  and 
yet  be  guilty  of  it  ? 

After  all,  brethren,  if  against  the  express  repeated  command 
and  [injunction  of]  Almighty  God,  against  the  light  and  [voice] 
of    your    own   conscience,  against  future   interest  and   the 

common  [feelings]  of  humanity  we  continue  to  [indulge]  piques 
and  hatreds  towards  [others  and]  will  not,  pursuant  to  the  apostle's 
directions,  put  away  from  us  all  bitterness,  and  wrath,  and  clamour, 
and  evil  speaking  with  be  assured  that  our  case  is  desperate. 

Why  should  we  disguise  the  truth  ?  It  is  fit  sinners  should  know 
their  condition  while  it  is  in  their  power  to  mend  it.  I  say 
therefore,  again,  that  the  state  of  such  persons  is  desperate,  that 
they  cannot  hope  for  salvation  by  the  holy  covenant.  For  St. 
John  plainly  tells  us,  'he  that  hateth  his  brother  is  in  darkness 
even  until  now.*  That  is,  notwithstanding  the  light  of  the  Gospel 
has  now  shined  in  the  world,  yet  such  a  one  is  in  a  state  of 
heathenism,  which  in  the  Scriptures  is  named  darkness.  Again, 
he  that  knoweth  not  God,  for  God  is  love.  '  If  any  man  saith 
I  love  God  and  hateth  his  brother,  he  is  a  liar.'  And  now  to  what 
purpose  is  it  to  produce  any  further  testimony?  Doth  not  our 
Lord  Himself  tell  us  in  the  text, '  By  this  shall  all  men  know  that 
ye  are  my  disciples,  if  ye  have  love  one  to  another?*  He  therefore 
that  [loveth  not]  is  no  disciple  of  Christ's ;  he  is,  in  [fact],  no 

S  s  2 


628  Sermon  preached  at  Leghorn. 

Christian,  has  no  right  to  expect  any  share  in  the  sufferings  and 
intercession  of  Christ  Jesus.  Nay,  I  will  be  bold  to  say  that  all 
the  evangelists,  the  disciples,  and  our  blessed  Lord  Himself  had 
not  so  frequently,  so  expressly,  so  urgently  declared  this  great 
truth  to  us,  yet  it  would  have  been  discovered  by  the  li^t  of 
nature  that  an  uncharitable  person  could  not  be  saved.  Strife^ 
calumny,  revenge,  envy,  prepare  and  fit  one  for  [the  company] 
of  devils.  A  spirit  with  these  [passions  can  be]  no  company 
for  saints  and  angels  even  in  heaven  itself  where  [all  is]  love,  joy^ 
peace. 

You,  Christians,  seriously  consider  what  has  been  said.  Let 
it  not  be  an  idle  dream  in  your  fancies  [let  it  sink  down  into] 
your  hearts  and  influence  all  your  actions.  ^  Put  on  (as  the  elect 
of  God,  holy  and  beloved)  bowels  of  mercies,  kindness,  humbleness 
of  mind,  meekness,  longsuffering,  forbearing  one  another  and 
forgiving  one  another,  if  any  man  have  a  quarrel  against  as 

Christ  forgave  you,  so  also  do  ye.  And  above  all  things,  put  on 
charity,  which  is  the  bond  of  perfectness.*  So  will  the  good  pro- 
vidence of  God  protect  and  bless  you  during  the  course  of  this 
mortal  life,  and  at  the  last  day  you  will  be  owned  for  true  disciples 
of  the  kind  and  merciful  Jesus :  to  whom  with  thee,  O  Father,  and 
the  Holy  Ghost  be  all  glory  «. 

*  [It  will  be  observed  that  towards  the  even  then  with  difficulty.  But  in  these  pas- 
end  of  this  Sermon  a  few  spaces  are  left  sages  a  word  or  two  is  occasionally  oitirdy 
blank.  This  arises  from  the  state  of  the  obliterated.  As  they  can  generally  be  sop- 
MS.,  which  in  this  part  is  very  much  injured  plied  by  the  reader  without  difficulty,  it  has 
(probably  by  the  action  of  salt  water).  In  been  thought  better  to  leave  them,  than  to 
the  conclusion  of  the  Sermon  a  large  portion  supply  them  by  conjecture.] 
of  it  is  only  legible  under  a  strong  light,  and 


SKELETONS    OF    SERMONS. 


I. 

PREACHED  AT  NEWPORT.  JAN.  26,  i72f. 
IN  THE  NARRAGANSET  COUNTRY,  MAY  11,  1729. 

Luke  xvi.  16. 

Ti6r  Linv  and  the  Propbeti  <were  until  John :  since  that  time  the  kingdom  of  God 

is  preached, 

I  Cor.  I.  21. 

For  after  that  in  the  ivijdom  of  God  the  <worid  hy  <wiidom  knetw  not  Gody  it  plecued 

God  by  the  foolishness  of  preaching  to  sa*ve  them  that  belirve, 

I. 

1.  Body  and  soul:  provision  for  the  former  in  nourishment,  de- 

fence, comfort. 

2.  Like  provision  for  wcUbeing  of  the  soul:   from  the  goodness 

and  wisdom  of  God  ^  from  the  excellency  of  the  soul  j  from 
our  natural  appetite  of  happiness  eternal  j  from  the  text. 

3.  Mean  and  progress  of  Providence  herein.    Wisdom  or  law  of 

God  twofold,  nature  and  revelation. 

II. 

1.  Light  of  nature  sheweth  the  being  of  a  God.     His  worship 

inward  by  meditation  and  imitation;  outward  by  prayer  and 
praise;  also  by  performing  His  will,  which  known  from  con- 
science and  inward  feeling. 

2.  Great  men  under  natural  religion.     Authority  of  revealed  re- 

ligion depends  upon  it  as  to  the  veracity  of  God  and  nature  of 
things  revealed. 


630  Skeletons  of  Sermons. 

3.  Being  of  God :  distinction  of  moral  good  and  evil ;  rewards 

and  punishments;  foundations,  substance,  life  of  all  religion; 
and  first  to  be  considered* 

4.  Vice,  indolence,  vanity  obstructed  n.  [natural]  religion.    Some 

wise  men,  but  wanted  authority.  Ignorance,  brutality,  idolatry 
of  the  heathen. 

5.  Revelation:  i.  to  particulars,  Noah,  Abraham,  Job;  2.  to  the 

Jewish  nation. 

III. 

1.  Things  at  the  worst;  God  exerts,  singles  out  a  despised  people 

without  law,  leader,  or  country ;  asserts  them  by  force  and 
miracles ;  conducts  them ;  gives  them  a  }aw ;  makes  them  His 
peculiar  people ;  entrusts  them  with  the  truth. 

2.  Jewish  law  provides  against  idolatry  and  corruption  of  manners; 

natural  religion  comprised  in  the  decalogue ;  one  God  to  be 
worshipped  without  image  basis  of  the  whole. 

3.  After  the  golden  calf  rites  instituted  ^  to  prevent  idolatry ;  to 

keep  from  mixing;  to  typifie;  to  insinuate  mercy;  and  for 
other  reasons  unknown. 

4.  Jewish  law  not  designed  to  be  perfect ;  nor  for  the  whole  world, 

nor  to  last  for  ever. 

5.  Stress  on  the  moral  part ;    rites,  6cc.  spoken  slightingly  of, 

Ps.  1.  I ;  Isaiah  i.  1 1 ;  Jerem.  vi.  20 ;  Hosea  vi.  6 ;  Micah 
vi.  6. 

6.  Pharisees  preferred  rites  to  weightier  matters ;  Sadducees  denied 

angels,  spirits,  and  life  to  come ;  general  expectation  of  the 
Jews. 

7.  Revelation:  i.  to  a  family;  2.  to  a  nation;  3.  to  the  whole 

world. 

IV. 

1.  Messiah  typified:  family,  time,  place,  character  foretold;  in- 

troduced by  angels,  apparitions,  voices  from  heaven,  in- 
spirations; attended  by  miracles;  sight,  motion,  even  life 
bestowed  on  the  dead. 

2.  Worship    in    spirit    and    in    truth :    perfect    morals ;    divine 

sanction  reaching  to  all  men,  which  wanting  in  the  h[eathen] 
wisdom:  in  the  former,  i.e.  morals  exceeds  Judaism  [as 
having]  a  clearer  view  of  future  things ;  rites  vanish  like 
shadows. 


Skeletons  of  Sermons.  631 

3.  Not  only  outward  observance,  but  inward  sanctity ;  contempt 

of  the  world,  and  life  itself. 

4.  Peace;  charity;  benevolence;  all  honest  and  orderly  behaviour; 

love  of  .God ;  purity  of  mind. 

5.  Having  opened  heaven  and  the  sources  of  eternal  life,  Christ 

inflames  us  with  the  hoped  immortality ;  assimilation  to  the 
Deity ;  perfect  as  our  Father  in  heaven  is  perfect. 

6.  Exhortation  helps ;  encouragements ;  rewards ;  punishments. 

7.  Means  of  reconciliation ;  Jewish  nation  and  Christian ;  God  of 

pardon,  grace. 

8.  Christ  crucified ;  the  leader,  way,  life,  truth ;  hath  all  power  in 

heaven  and  earth;   proved  by  miracles;   raising  others  and 
Himself;  send  us  the  Holy  Ghost. 


II. 

PREACHED   AT   NE)VPORT,   MARCH  2,  1725. 

Rom.  VIII.  13. 

If  ye  Ivve  after  the  fleshy  ye  shall  die :  hut  if  ye  through  the  Spirit  do  mortify  the 

deeds  of  the  body,  ye  shall  live, 

1.  Animal  and  rational;  brute  and  angel;  senses,  appetites, 
passions — their  ends  and  uses;  guilt,  why  not  in  beasts. 

Opposition,  war;  Rom.  viii.  6,  Gal.  v.  17;  lapsed  state. 

Grace,  spirit,  new  man,  old  man ;  £ph.  iv.  22 ;  danger  from  not 
subduing  the  carnal  brutal  animal  part  or  flesh;  works  of  the 
flesh,  what;  Gal.  v.  19. 

2.  Fasting  conducive  to  subdue  the  flesh,  shewn  from  natural 
causes;  2  Cor.  iv.  16;  shewn  from  eflFects  in  describing  life  spi- 
ritual and  lives  of  carnal  men. 

Fortune,  reputation,  health,  pleasure ;  public  evils  from  carnal 
men. 

3.  Examples:  Moses'  fast  in  the  mount  forty  days  and  nights 
fitted  him  to  receive  the  law  from  God  by  speech  of  the  Holy  One; 
Elijah  supported  by  one  cake  and  cruse  of  water,  in  strength 
whereof  he  lived  forty  days  and  forty  nights,  and  after  saw  God 


632  Skeletons  of  Sermons. 

in  Horeb;  Dan.  i.  17, '  God  gave  them  knowledge  and  skill  in  all 
learning  and  wisdom ;  and  Daniel  had  understanding  in  all  visions 
and  dreams/ 

4.  Instance  of  mercy  to  fasters,  as  in  Ninive;  of  indignation 
for  the  contrary,  as  in  the  Israelites  who  longed  after  the  fleshpots 
in  Egypt 

5.  Examples  out  of  the  New  Testament :  S.  John  Baptist  and 
Christ  Himself. 

6.  Precepts  in  New  Testament:  'This  kind  goeth  not,*  te.; 
*  When  ye  fast,*  &c.,  Matt.  vi.  16;  fasts  at  certain  times. 

7.  What  sort  a  Christian  fast  should  be :  not  to  destroy  health, 
not  for  ostentation,  not  in  form,  but  from  degree  as  well  as  kind; 
not  to  merit,  much  less  to  establish  a  bank  of  merits;  habitual 
temperance;  fast  from  all  sin;  curb  lust,  tongue,  anger,  every 
passion,  each  whereof  inebriates  and  obfuscates  no  less  than  drink 
or  meat ;  cut  off  right  hand,  pluck  out,  &c. 

8.  Recapitulation :  3  motives,  viz. — I.  Temple  of  God,  i  Cor. 
iii.  16.  II.  Race-horse,  *so  strive  that  ye  may  obtain,*  i  Cor.  ix. 
24;  crown,  things  temporal  with  things  eternal  compared.  III. 
Wrestle  with  principalities,  &c.;  Christian  armour,  Eph.  vi.  11. 


III. 
PREACHED  AT  NEWPORT,  FIRST  SUNDAY  IN  JULY,  1729. 

ROM.  XIV.  17. 

For  the  kingdom  qf  God  h  not  meat  and  drinA,   but   rigbteomnessj  peace,  aad 

j(y  in  the  Holy  Ghost, 

I. 

1.  Context :  Meat  and  drink  imply  all  rites  and  ceremonies. 

2.  Division  into  essentials  and  circumstantials  in  religion. 

3.  Circumstantials  of  less  value,  (i)  from  the  nature  of  things; 

(2)  from  their  being  left  undefined ;  (3)  from  the  concession 
of  our  Church,  which  is  foulJy  misrepresented. 

4.  Duty  in  these  matters,  (i)  because  of  decency  and  edification; 

(2)   because  of  lawful  authority;    (3)  because  of  peace  and 
union. 


Skeletons  of  Sermons.  633 

II. 

1.  Worship  in  spirit  and  truth,  righteousness  in  deed,  in  word, 

in  thought ;  not  limited  to  buying  and  selling  (Rom.  xiii.  7). 

2.  Easier  understood  than  practised  ;  appeal  to  conscience. 

3.  Christ's  summary  rule — 'all  things  whatsoever  ye  would  that 

men  should  do  to  you,  do  ye  even  so  [to]  them  j  for  this  is 
the  law  and  the  prophets.' 

4.  Reasons  for  practice:   from  equity   (Mai.  ii.  10) j   the  knave 

may  triumph,  but,  etc.  (Ezek.  xxii.  1). 

III. 

I.  Christian  peace  twofold,  (1)  peace  of  mind  inward;  (2)  outward 
peace,  i.e.  charity  and  union  with  other  men  (Phil.  ii.  1,  2; 
I  Cor.  i.  10;  Rom.  xv.  i). 

a.  The  sum  of  religion :  the  distinguishing  badge  of  Christians.. 

3.  Sad  that  religion  which  requires  us  to  love  should  become  the 

cause  of  our  hating  one  another.      But  it  is  not  religion, 
it  is,  etc. 

4.  Were  men  modest,  were  men  charitable,  were  men  sincere. 

Objection  of  lukewarmness. 

5.  Discern   between   persons   and  opinions,  proportion  our  zeal 

to  the  merit  of  things. 

6.  Elias-like  zeal  not  the  spirit  of  Christians.    Charity  described 

(i  Cor.  xiii). 

nil. 

1.  Joy  in  the  Holy  Spirit  not  sullen,  sour,  morose,  joyless,  but 

rejoicing. 

2.  Not  with  insolent,  tumultuous,  profane  joy,  but  calm,  serene, 

perpetual.     Sinners,  infidels,  etc.  have  cause  to  be  sad. 

3.  Causes  of  joy :   protection  of  God  (Ps.  x.),  forgiveness  of  sin 

(Ps.  ciii.  2,  3,  9),  aid  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  adoption,  inheritance 
in  the  heavens. 

4.  Since  we  have  so  great  things  in  view,  let  us  overlook  petty 

diflFerences;  let  us  look  up  to  God  our  common  Father;  let 
us  bear  one  another's  infirmities ;  instead  of  quarrelling  about 
those  things  wherein  we  diflFer,  let  us  practise  those  things 

■ 

wherein  we  agree, 
(i)  The  Lord  is  my  light  and  my  salvation,  etc. 


634  Skeletons  of  Sermons. 

(2)  Be  at  peace  among  yourselves,  etc. 

(3)  The  way  of  the  wicked  is  as  darkness,  they   know  not  at 

what,  etc. 

(4)  The  hope  of  the  righteous,  etc. 


IV. 

PREACHED  AT   NEWPORT,  AUGUST  3,  1729. 

I  Tim.  ui.  16. 

Without  controveny  great  is  the  mystery  qf  godliness ;  God  fwas  mamjest  m 

the  flesh, 

St.  John  i.  14. 

^he  Lord  <was  made  fleshy  and  d*welt  among  us. 

I. 

The  divinity  of  our  Saviour  a  fiindamental  article  of  the 
Christian  faith.  We  believe  in  him,  pray  to  him,  depend  upon 
him  here  and  hereafter.  Omniscience,  etc.  Denied  of  late  years. 
Mystery  what. 

State  clear  up,  show  the  proofs,  answer  objections,  consider 
use  and  importance  of  the  doctrine. 

II. 

Concerning  the  soul  and  body  of  Christ  there  is  no  con- 
troversy, but  about  the  personal  union  of  the  divinity  with  the 
manhood. 

Some  sort  of  union  with  the  Godhead  in  prophets,  apostles, 
all  true  Christians,  all  men;  but  with  men.  Christians,  inspired 
persons,  Christ  in  diflFerent  degrees.  The  latter  also  in  kind 
contradistinct  as  personal.  This  explained,  and  shown  not  re- 
pugnant to  natural  reason. 

III. 

Shown  to  be  in  fact  from  express  words  in  Scripture  terming 
Christ  God:  ['^The  was  God,'  John  i.  i ;  'My  Lord  and  my 
God,'  said  Thomas  to  the  Saviour.]     From  attributions  of  omni- 

*  AU  within  brackets  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  MS.  to  the  sketch  of  the  Sermon. 
— H.  J.  R. 


Skeletons  of  Sermons.  •  635 

potence :  [ '  By  him  all  things  consist/  Col.  i.  17;'  Upholding 
all  things  by  the  word  of  his  power/  Heb.  i.  3;  'Whatsoever 
things  the  Father  doth,  these  also  doeth  the  Son  likewise/  John 
V,  19,  ai.]  Omnipresence:  [John  xiv.  23,  ^Christ  saith  if  a  man 
love  him  that  the  Father  and  he  will  come/  etc. ;  Matthew  xviii. 
20;  xxviii.  20.]  Omniscience:  ['Now  are  we  sure  that  thou 
knowest  all  things/  John  xvi.  30;  xxi.  17.] 

From  the  history  and  circumstances  of  his  birth,  life^  and 
resurrection,  prophecies,  miracles,  apparition  of  angels.  From  his 
works:  [Pardoning  sins,  giving  grace,  sending  the  Holy  Spirit, 
judging  the  world,  distributing  rewards  and  punishments,  dooming 
te  final  perdition,  or  crowning  with  life  and  immortality.]  From 
the  worship  paid  to  him:  'All  men  are  commanded  to  honour 
the  Son  even  as  they  honour  the  Father,'  John  v.  23.  [Baptism  : 
'  In  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost.' 
Apostles'  benediction :  '  The  grace  of  our  Lord,'  etc.  Doxology. 
St.  Peter  ascribes  to  him  '  praise  and  dominion  for  ever  and  ever  ^ ' 
and  again, '  to  him  be  glory,*  etc. ;  '  through  Jesus  Christ,  to  whom 
be  glory  for  ever  and  ever,'  Heb.  xiii.  21 ;  and  in  the  Apocal.  v.  13, 
'and  ^ycp]  creature  which  is  in  heaven/  etc.] 

IV. 
Objection  from  Scripture :  ['  The  Son  can  do  nothing  of  him- 
self,' etc.,  John  v.  13;  'I  seek  not  mine  own  will,  but  the  will 
of  the  Father  who  hath  sent   me/  /^;   'I  have  not  spoken  of 
myself,  but  the  Father  who  hath  sent  me/  etc.  ;  '  to 

sit  on  my  right  hand  is  not  mine  to  give/  etc.  \  '  of  that 

hour  knoweth   no   man,  not  the  angels,  nor  the  Son,  but  the 
Father,'  .     He  prayeth,  is  afflicted,  tempted,  distressed.] 

Answered  by  acknowledging  Christ  to  be  man  as  well  as  God, 
whence  contradictorys  are  predicated  of  his  different  natures. 

V. 

Objection  from  reason,  from  the  meanness  of  his  figure  and 
appearance.  Answered  by  showing  wherein  true  greatness  and 
glory  consists — more  in  miracles  and  sanctity,  infinitely  more  than 
in  pomp  and  worldly  grandeur. 

VI. 
Objection  second  from  reason,  i.e.  from  substance,  peisonality, 
etc. 


^36'  Skeletons  of  Sermons, 

[The  seed  of  the  woman  shall  break  the  serpent's  head  in 
the  dales  of  Adam.  To  Abraham :  '  In  thee  shall  all  the  femilics 
of  the  earth  be  blessed.'  By  Jacob:  '  Shiloh  to  whom  the  gathcrii^ 
of  the  people.*  Balaam:  *  There  shall  come  a  star  out  of  Jacob, 
and  a  sceptre  shall  rise  out  of  Israel/  Types :  paschal  lamb,  all 
sacrifices.  From  Samuel  to  Malachi :  Luke  x.  24 — *Many  prophets 
have  desired,'  etc. 

Hence  motives  to  obedience,  faith,  hope,  joy.  [This  doctrine 
or  mystery;  what  not  intended  to  produce;  what  it  hath  acciden- 
tally produced.  Simile  of  the  sun  and  weak  eyes ;  mind  dim'd 
with  folly  or  inflamed  with  pride ;  rescue  from  despair ;  a  hopeless 
case  cutts  of  all  endeavour,  etc.  Favour  extended;  door  opened; 
citizens ;  endeavours  accepted.] 


V. 

PREACHED  AT  NEWPORT,  THE  FIRST  SUNDAY  IN 

SEPTEMBER,  1729. 

HEB.    XII.  23,  23. 

But  ye  are  come  unto  mount  Sion,  and  unto  the  city  of  the  irving  God^  the  heavenly 
Jerusalem^  and  to  an  innumerable  company  of  angels ^  to  the  general  assembly  and 
church  of  the  firstborn^  <which  are  ^written  in  heaven,  and  to  God  the  Judge  cfally 
and  to  the  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect, 

1.  Body,  city,  kingdom;  Church  formed  in  the  original  creation 
of  intelligent  beings,  which  necessarily  formed  for  society  with 
one  another  and  orderly  submission  to  the  will  of  God :  defectioii 
of  angels  and  men:  our  business  to  recover  this  pristine  state: 
I  St  Church  on  earth  founded  on  the  light  of  nature  and  traditions 
from  Noah ;  2nd  Church  of  the  Jews  abolishing  idolatry,  contain- 
ing the  principles  of  moral  duty  with  shadows  and  figures  of  things 
to  come;  Segullah^  always  subsisting;  3rd  Church  the  Christian. 

2.  Jewish  the  religion  of  legal  justice,  Christian  of  saving  grace; 
grace  from  the  beginning*^;  method  of  admission  into  this  society; 

*  [Segullah  «  H^JD  PeeuUum^  *  a  peculiar  treasure/  Exod.  xix.  5.] 
'  Prophetic  view  of  Christ,  faith  in  God,  sacrifices. 


Skeletons  of  Sermons.  637 

[*  both  Jews  and  Gentiles  are  fellowcitizens  with  the  saints,  and  of 
the  household  of  God/  Ephes.  ii.  19;  the  Church  of  the  living 
God;  the  pillar  and  ground  of  truth;  built  by  Christ  upon  a  rock; 
against  which  the  gates  of  hell  shall  never  prevail ;]  '  names  written 
in  heaven/  Luke  x.  20 ;  blotted  out  of  the  book  of  life  \  faith  and 
repentance  inward,  baptism  outward ;  by  nature  unholy,  by  rege- 
neration holy ;  in  ist  state  lust,  appetite,  sense,  passion,  in  a  word 
the  flesh;  in  2nd  new  life  of  the  spirit,  purifying,  sanctifying, 
ennobling  our  natures. 

3.  Requisites  to  continuance  in  the  Church  of  Christ :  inward, 
the  love  of  God  and  our  neighbour,  which  comprehend  the  sum  of 
all  duty,  the  bond  and  cement ;  outward,  the  reception  of  the  Holy 
Sacrament. 

4.  Regular  government  necessary  to  every  society  upon  earth : 
12  patriarchs  and  12  (^vAapxaij  so  12  Apostles;  70  in  the  San- 
hedrin,  so  70  disciples  appointed  by  our  Lord ;  ['  He  gave  some, 
apostles ;  and  some,  prophets ;  and  some,  evangelists ;  and  some, 
pastors  and  teachers ;  for  the  perfecting  of  the  saints,  for  the  work 
of  the  ministry,  for  the  edifying  of  the  body  of  Christ,'  Eph.  iv.  11, 
12;]  at  first,  indeed,  illiterate  men  and  mechanics  were  pastors, 
but  then  they  were  inspired  and  miraculously  gifted,  Ephes.  iv.  11, 
12;  bishops,  priests,  and  deacons;  ^The  Lord  gave  the  word: 
great  was  the  company  of  those  that  published  it,'  Ps.  [Ixviii.  11.] 

5.  Rights  and  privileges  pertaining  to  this  society;  adopted 
into  the  divine  family,  sons  of  God,  heirs  of  salvation ;  not  slaves, 
but  subjects;  in  every  society  rights  and  dues;  ['In  this'city  which 
hath  foundations,  whose  builder  and  maker  is  God/  Heb.  xi.  10;] 
God  hath  right  to  our  obedience,  and  we  right  to  his  promises; 
we  are  obliged  to  live  towards  God  as  servants,  subjects,  children ; 
towards  one  another  as  brethren. 

6.  Church  invisible  and  visible ;  many  of  the  visible  Church  not 
of  the  invisible;  can  we  think  that  such  and  such,  &c.  ? 

7.  Church  not  confined  to  this  spot  of  earth;  text;  angels 
original  citizens,  we  aliens  naturalized ;  ['  Very  excellent  things 
are  spoken  of  thee,  thou  city  of  God/  Ps. ;]  unity  of  the  Church, 
because  governed  by  one  Head,  quickened  and  sanctified  by  the 
same  Spirit,  whereof  all  partake,  whence  a  communion  of  saints ; 
[our  Saviour  saith,  « There  shall  be  one  fold,  and  one  shepherd/ 
S.John  x.  16.] 


638  Skeletons  of  Sermons. 

8.  Recapitulation ;  Baptism  and  the  Eucharist;  punctual  in  lower 
forms  for  small  views;  spiritual  things  not  perceived  by  carnal 
men ;  palace  and  dungeon;  how  eager  to  get  in,  how  cautious  of 
being  turned  out.  Ephes.  iv.  1-6. 


VI. 

PREACHED  AT  NEWPORT  IN  RHODE  ISLAND,  THE  FIRST 

SUNDAY  IN  OCTOBER,  1729. 

Acts  ii.  38. 

Rgpenty  and  he  baptized  etfery  one  of  you, 

I. 

1.  Baptism  by  water  a  sign  both  by  nature  and  appointment;  a 

badge  also  by  which  Christians  are  distinguished. 

2.  Seal  of  God's  promises — remission,  justification,  adoption.  God 

binds  himself  by  free  promise  of  grace  on  his  part,  on  our  part 
we  become  entitled  to  these  promises,  to  the  ordinances  and 
the  grace  conferred  by  them. 

3.  New  life  and  regeneration,  Rom.  vi.  3, 4,  7. 

'He  that  believeth  and  is  baptized  shall  be  saved,'  Mark 

jvi.  16. 
'  Except  a  man  be  bom  again  of  water  and  of  the  Spirit  he 

cannot  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God.' 

II. 

I.  Men  of  notoriously  wicked  lives  and  of  scandalous  professions 
anciently  excluded;  now  [no?]  doubt  touching  children  and 
slaves;  children  of  believers  may,  for — i©.  «to  you  and  your 
children  are  the  promises  made,'  Acts  ii.  39,  &c. ;  'your 
children  are  holy,'  1  Cor.  vii.  14;  circumcision. 

a.  Objection  that  belief  is  required ;  ans.  by  parallel ;  he  that  will 
not  labour,  neither  shall  he  eat,  now  infants  are  not  hereby 
excluded  from  eating. — %.  Believers  may  be  termed  believers, 
Christ  calling  them  so,  Matth.  xviii.  6. — 3.  Strictly  speaking, 
it  is  not  faith,  but  the  application  of  Christ's  righteousness 


t. 


Skeletons  of  Sermons.  639 

that  justifieth,  and  this  may,  if  God  please,  be  applied  other- 
wise than  by  faith,  v.  q.  by  his  sanctifying  Spirit. 
3.  2d  objection:  that  no  mention  is  made  of  infants  being  bap- 
tized in  Scripture;  but  neither  is  mention  made  there  of 
women  receiving  the  eucharist, — besides,  it  is  said,  several 
persons  and  all  their  household  were  baptized. 

III. 

I.  Our  Saviour  commandeth  his  disciples  to  go  and  baptize  all 

nations.     The  Eunuch  of  Ethiopia. 
%.   I.  ob.  Christianity  maketh  no  alteration  in  civil  rights,  servants 

in  the  New  Testament  signifying  slaves,  v.q.  Onesimus ;  hence 

objection  from  loss  of  property  answered. 
3.  2d.  ob.  That  baptism  makes  slaves  worse.   Resp.  This  proceeds 

from  an  infidel  mind  j  contrary  shewn ;  what  they  charge  on 

baptism  to  be   charged  on  their  own  unchristian   life   and 

neglect  of  instruction. 
4*  Duty  in  masters  to  instruct  and  baptize   their  families,  but 

negligent  of  their  own  baptism. 

•IV. 

Baptism  of  adults  deferred  anciently  either  for  instruction  or  emen- 
dation of  the  Church,  but  wrongly  by  themselves  deferred. 

1  reason,  !<>.  through  supine  negligence. 

What  so  nearly  concerns  as  our  own  soul  ?  what  so  valuable  as  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  ? 

If  you  were  sick,  in  captivity,  or  encumbered  with  debt,  and  you 
were  assured  that  by  an  easy  method,  as  washing,  &c.,  would 
you  say  you  had  not  leisure  to  be  heard,  &c.  ? 

But  these  diseases,  this  servitude,  these  debts,  are  of  infinitely  more 
consequence  as  respecting  our  eternal  state. 

Should  any  enemy  debar  you,  how  would  you  rail !  why  then  will 
you  be  that  enemy  yourself?  8. 

%  reas.  Despondency.  Resp.  ^  Where  sin  abounded,  grace  did  much 
more  abound,'  Rom.  v.  20. 

3  reas.  Heresy  of  Novatian.     St.  Peter,  and  whole  tenour  of  the 

New  Testament  and  Old. 

4  reas.  Wrong  notion  of  a  covenant  which  they  apprehend  would 


640  Skeletons  of  Sermons. 

entrap  them;  herein  1®.  mistake  from  the  nature  of  the  cove- 
nant, which  imposeth  no  new  obligations;    were  believing 
men  free  before  baptism,  something  might  be  said  for  defer- 
ring it,  but  '  woe  to  thee,  Bethsaida,'  &c.,  but  '  Sodom,'  &c., 
Matt.  X.  14,  15.     2*^.  impiety  in  mistrusting  our  blessed  Lord, 
who  invites,  saying,  ^  Come  to  me  all  that  labour'and  are  heavy 
laden,  and  I  will  refresh  you;'  also,  he  saith  his  yoke  is  easy, 
and  his  burden  light.     3".  the  greatest  folly  and  blindness  to 
our  loss,  it  being  a  covenant  on  our  part   entirely  advan- 
tageous, a  privilege,  an  ofFer  of  grace  and  pardon  and  in- 
valuable rights.  Titus  iii.  4,  5. 

5  reas.  An  unwillingness  to  forsake  sin,  a  cunning  design  of  living 
to  the  world  and  dying  to  God ;  this  is  to  say,  I  will  wallow  in 
vice  and  sin,  cheat,  purloin,  indulge  in  gluttony  and  drunken- 
ness, and  deny  nothing  that  my  appetite  leads  to ;  the  first- 
fruits,  flower,  prime  to  the  devil,  the  fag-end,  when  faculty  for 
good  and  evil  is  gone,  to  God.  ^  Thinkest  thou  that  I  am  such 
a  one  as  thyself?'  Ps.;  but  'God  is  not  mocked,*  Gal. 

Our  Saviour's  parable  of  those  who  came  late  in  the  day  to  work, 
not  designed  to  encourage  delay  in  believers,  but  to  give 
comfort  to  those  who  had  late  /neans  of  information. 

But  how  know  you  it  is  not  late  now  ?  who  hath  given  you  a  lease 
of  life?  who  assured  you  that  you  shall  live  to  be  old,  that 
you  shall  not  die  suddenly,  that  you  shall  not  die  to-morrow, 
or  even  this  very  day?  can  you  think  that  God,  whom  you 
never  hearkened  to,  will  hearken  to  your  first  call? 

When  the  fever  is  got  into  your  head,  when  you  can  neither  bend 
a  knee  nor  lift  an  eye  to  heaven,  when  you  cannot  frame  a 
prayer  yourself  or  join  with  others.  Suppose  baptism  con- 
ferred then  and  grace  given,  you  have  the  talent  without  the 
time  or  opportunity  to  produce  fruit  or  profit  thereby. 

All  things  are  ready;  God  now  calls,  but  the  devil  causeth  delay; 
to-day  for  me,  to-morrow  for  the  Lord.  He  is  too  cunning  to 
suggest  a  resolution  against  ever  doing  what  you  know  should 
be  done,  but  stealing  the  present  he  stealeth  day  atler  day, 
till  &c. 

Be  enrolled  on  earth  in  due  time,  that  you  may  be  written  in  the 
book  of  life  that  is  in  heaven. 


Skeletons  of  Sermons.  641 

VII. 

PREACHED  AT  NEWPORT,  FIRST  SUNDAY  IN 

AUGUST,  1730. 

Matt.  xxii.  37,  38. 

Tbou  sbalt  Uuve  the  Lord  thy  God  <witb  all  thy  hearty  and  <ivith  all  thy  joul,  and 
v/ith  all  thy  mind.    Jhit  is  the  first  and  great  commandment. 

In  arts  and  sciences  certain  fundamental  truths ;  in  factions  and 
divisions  of  men  a  chief  tenet  or  principle ;  in  religion,  difference 
uid  degrees  in  principles;  what  is  the  chief?  our  Saviour  answers 
in  my  text. 

Love  various:  i.  of  sensible  objects;  2.  of  inferiors  and  depen- 
dants ;  3*  of  friendship  between  equals ;  4.  love  of  gratitude  and 
respect  to  benefactors  and  superiors ;  5.  love  of  virtue  and  excel- 
lence, i.  e.  objects  of  the  understanding. 

Two  last  the  love  of  God :  image  of  God  strongly  to  be  im- 
pressed for  imitation;  ever  mindful  of  his  benefits,  numerous, 
^eat,  constant. 

We  shew  love  to  superiors  and  benefactors  by  consulting  their 
honour,  i.  e.  by  performing  their  will,  and  endeavouring  that  others 
should  perform  it.  [^  This  is  the  love  of  God,  that  we  keep  his 
commandments,'  i  John  v.  3.] 

Will  of  God  known,  i.  by  considering  his  attributes;  2.  by  con- 
science and  instinct ;  3.  by  the  preaching  of  Christ  and  apostles. 
[^  Their  sound  went  into  all  the  earth,  and  their  words  unto  the 
end  of  the  world.'] 

Hence,  i®.  charity,  i.  e.  candour,  gentleness,  compassion^  congra- 
tulation, wishing  and  promoting  their  welfare. 

a**.  Temperance,  contrivance  of  appetites  and  passions,  limits, 
objects,  mortification,  rule  the  end  and  tendency. 

3«.  Resignation ;  [^  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken 
away,  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord,'  Job ;]  good  with  thanks, 
bad  with  patience,  both  mistaken;  strong  passions,  weak  judg- 
ments; wealth  and  power  in  themselves  indiflFerent,  good  or  bad 
as  used ;  rather  thankful  than  anxious  for  more. 

40.  Worship  in  spirit  and  in  truth ;  holy,  as  he  is  holy ;  not  lip- 
worship,  not  will-worship,  but  inward  and  evangelical. 

Our  interest  in  this,  imperfect  creatures,  blind  and  backward ; 

VOL.  IV.  T  t 


642  Skeletons  of  Sermons. 

actions  civil  and  motions  natural,  all  by  law;  thus  actions  moral 
and  religious  by  rule,  i.e.  will  of  God;  will  follows  understanding; 
ignorant  and  impotent;  [^ There  is  a  way  that  seemeth  right  unto 
man,  but  the  end  thereof  are  the  ways  of  death,'  Prov. ;]  anguish 
and  remorse ;  [^  Woe  unto  him  that  striveth  with  his  maker/  Isaiah 
xlv.  9 ;]  conforming  gives  happiness,  public  and  private. 

Mind  the  end  and  will  of  God ;  not  enslaved  by  lust ;  faculties 
not  impaired ;  masters  not  servants  to  passions,  bending  them  to 
the  will  of  God ;  our  freedom  and  perfection. 

To  this  single  point  all  religion,  virtue,  happiness;  misery  from 
transgressing,  happiness  from  conforming  to  rule ;  but  no  rule  so 
right,  &c.;  agreeable  harmony;  not  disturbed,  not  disappointed, 
not  engaged,  not  worried,  but  calm,  &c.;  living  up  to  nature; 
nothing  so  natural  to  man  as  an  orderly  life,  regulated  by  the  will 
of  God ;  proper  sphere ;  dislocated ;  duty  and  interest  joined  in  the 
love  of  God. 


VIII. 

PREACHED  AT  NEWPORT,  MAY  1 1  \ 

S.  Luke  xxii.  19. 

Ibu  do  in  remembrance  of  me. 

I  Cor.  XI.  26. 

Ai  often  as  ye  eat  this  breads  and  drink  tins  cup^  je  do  sbevo  the  Lor^s 

death  tili  be  eome, 

Christ's  institution  observed  constantly  in  the  Church;  this 
sufficient  to  modest  and  humble  Christians.  But  observed  only  by 
few,  &c. ;  therefore  treat  of  the  uses  of  this  sacrament,  the  requi- 
sites to  it,  and  the  objections  against  receiving  it. 

ist  use  to  signify  and  to  seal;  bread  and  wine  apt  emblems, and 
why :  2.  to  keep  up  a  memory :  3.  to  increase  faith,  love  of  God, 
joy,  thankfulness:  4.  to  quicken  our  obedience  by  repentance  and 
resolutions :  5.  to  distinguish  Christians  from  other  men :  6.  to 
sement  them  together:    7.  meet  there  should  be  certain  solemn 

*  No  year;  probably  1730.     See  No.  I. 


Skeletons  of  Sermons,  643 

times  for  certain  duties,  to  prevent  growing  into  neglect.  ['  To 
nrery  thing  there  is  a  season  and  a  time  for  every  purpose  under 
lie  sun/] 

Wrong  apprehensions  about  the  Eucharist  in  Papists  not  con- 
sidering the  circumcision  is  called  the  covenant,  lamb  the  pass- 
>vcr,  cup  the  new  testament ;  their  folly  too  gross : — in  enthusiasts 
yi  mistaken  men,  who  reject  it  as  not  spiritual ;  but  why  pray  ? 
jrhy  preach?  why  build  houses  of  worship?  because  these  are 
;igns  or  means  of  grace  or  things  spiritual.  The  like  to  be  said  of 
the  Eucharist. 

Practice  of  primitive  Christians,  than  whom  none  wiser  or  belter 
now.  Inspiration  of  the  apostles  and  first  disciples  known  by  mira- 
cles. (Acts  ii.  15,  17,  18,  and  iii.)  No  inspiration  to  be  admitted 
for  such  without  them;  much  less  for  pretence  thereof  to  reject 
institutions  of  Christ  and  His  apostles. 

Wrong  apprehensions  in  other  men  of  our  own  communion,  who 
avoid  the  Eucharist.  Ground  hereof  the  fear  of  incurring  wrath 
by  abuse;  this  founded  principally  on  S.  Paul's  threat  to  the 
Corinthians,  1  Cor.  xi.  29  with  ai.  If  fear  of  abuse  prevail,  why 
baptized  ?  why  hear  a  sermon  ?  why  read  the  Scriptures  ? 

Things  required  in  the  communicants :  Faith,  i  Tim.  i.  15 ;  re- 
pentance, James  iv.  8;  charity,  i  Cor.  x.  16,  17.  Christians  with- 
out these  exposed  to  wrath,  although  they  forbear  the  sacrament, 
the  neglect  whereof  an  additional  guilt.   Ps.  cxvi.  12,  13,  14. 


IX. 

PREACHED  AT  NEWPORT.     [NO  DATE.] 

I  Cor.  XV.  ao. 
Buz  now)  is  CbrUt  risen  from  the  dead,  and  become  the  Jirstf nuts  rftbem  that  slept. 

X  Cor.  XV.  55. 
O  death,  <where  is  thy  sting  f  O  grave,  where  is  thy  victory  f 

2  Tim.  I.  10. 
Who  abolished  death,  and  brought  life  and  immortality  to  light  by  the  Gospel. 

I.  To  consider  the  ways  of  men,  one  would  think  them  never  to 
die  ;  [Psalms,  *  The  inward  thought  of  the  rich,  that  their  houses 

T  t  2 


644  Skeletons  of  Sermons. 

shall  continue  for  ever,  and  their  dwelling-places  to  all  genera- 
tions;*] to  consider  how  made  within,  what  accidents  without; 
strange  should  live  so  long;  no  need  of  reason  to  prove  death, 
experience  frequent;  [Peter,  'All  flesh  is  as  grass,  and  all  the  ^ory 
of  man  as  the  flower  of  grass/] 

a.  Uncertainty  of  time;  brevity  certain;  case  not  hopeless  of  a 
resurrection ;  many  hints  from  nature  in  changes  analogous  thereto ; 
night  and  day,  winter  and  springs  fruits,  plants,  insects^  production 
of  animals. 

3.  Argument  from  instinct,  and  natural  appetite  of  immortality; 
reflection  on  the  growth  and  perfection  of  the  soul,  whence  designed 
for  higher  purposes;  this  world  a  punishment  or  a  school,  the 
former  philosophers,  the  latter  Christians. 

4.  Job^  and  Balaam^  before  the  Jews;  [uncertainty  of  ancients  in 
expressions';]  of  these  David,  Exekiel^^  Solomon,  and  DanieP. 
\}  Job  xix.  25, '  I  know  that  my  redeemer  liveth,  and  that  he  shall 
stand  at  the  latter  day  upon  the  earth :  and  though  after  my  skin 
worms  destroy  this  my  body,  yet  in  my  flesh  shall  I  see  Go4' 

*  *  Let  me  die  the  death  of  the  righteous,  and  may  my  latter  end  be 
like  his.*  ^  Job  xiv.  7,  10, '  There  is  hope  of  a  tree,  if  it  be  cut 
down,  that  it  will  sprout  again,  and  that  the  tender  branch  thereof 
will  not  cease  .  .  but  man  dieth,  and  wasteth  away :  yea,  man 
giveth  up  the  ghost,  and  where  is  he  ?*  *  Eccles.  xii.  7,  '  The  dust 
shall  return  to  the  earth,  and  the  spirit  to  God  who  gave  it' 

*  Dan.  xii.  2,  *  Many  of  them  that  sleep  in  the  dust  of  the  earth 
shall  awake,  some  to  everlasting  life,  and  some  to  shame  and 
everlasting  contempt.*] 

5.  Life  and  immortality  brought  to  light  by  the  gospel ;  Jewish 
twilight;  resurrection  of  Christ  proof,  as  confirmation,  as  ex- 
ample. 

6.  Christ,  predicts  and  institutes,  voluntary;  Jews  place  guard; 
soldiers*  tale ;  Providence  in  the  guard ;  appeared  often,  to  several, 
in  the  day;  submits  to  trials  of  sense,  walks,  talks,  eats  and  drinks; 
disciples  could  not  be  deceived ;  ascension ;  3000  converts. 

7.  Consider  the  impossibility  of  deceiving  others :  with  cunning? 
none;  with  authority?  none;  with  eloquence  and  learning?  none; 
no  means. 

8.  No  motives,  punishments,  &c.  for  declaring  it,  no  temporal 
advantage ;  nor  fame,  nor  interest,  nor  prejudices  answered  by  it 


Skeletons  of  Sermons.  645 

9.  Cowardly  before,  new  and  high  courage ;  dispersed  when 
alive ;  die  for  him  now  he  is  dead  \  expected  a  temporal  prince. 

10.  End,  goodness,  innocence,  truth, 

11.  Prophecies,  miracles,  resurrection,  ascension;  destruction, 
dispersion  of  Jews;  wonderful  spread  of  the  gospel;  like  light  to 
Britain  and  India  and  Aethiopia. 


X. 

PREACHED  AT  NEWPORT.  [NO  DATE.] 

Ps.  XV.  X,  3. 

hord^  vjbo  shall  abide  in  thy  tabernacle  1  tubo  shall  dtwell  in  thy  holy  hillf  He 
thai  backbiteih  not  voith  bis  tongue^  nor  doeth  evil  tc  his  neighbour^  nor  taketh  i^ 
u  reproach  against  his  neighbour, 

1.  Frequency;  little  honour,  great  guilt;  [James  i.  a6,  *If  any 
man  among  you  seem  to  be  religious,  and  bridleth  not  his  tongue, 
tmi  Jeeeheth  hss  own  hearty  that  man's  religion  is  vain;*]  text.  4 
points:  i.  what  it  is  contrary  to;  2.  whence  it  springs;  3.  what 
effects;  4.  counsels  for  shunning  it,  in  the  close  exhortation 
against  it. 

2.  Contrary  to  charity,  i  Cor.  xiii.  4,  5,  6 ;  taking  things  in  the 
worst  sense  mark  of  hatred ;  eagerness  to  tell  mark  of  pleasure 
which  shews  hatred. 

3.  Contrary  to  justice;  not  doing  as  we  would  be  done  by; 
[S.  James  iv.  12,  *Who  art  thou  that  judgest  another?*]  Jud^ 
obliged  to  inform  themselves.  Good  and  evil  moral  depends  on 
unseen  springs.  Not  to  draw  a  general  character  from  a  single 
instance.  Life,  goods,  and  reputation,  3  great  possessions ;  in  the 
two  first  wrong  evident. 

4.  Sign  of  want  of  merit ;  readiness  to  suspect  others,  token  of 
inward  guilt. 

5.  Sign  of  malignant  nature ;  like  to  God  and  to  the  devil  by 
different  qualities.  Spider  and  toad  unlike  to  the  bee.  Pride  and 
ill-will  sources  of  detraction. 

6.  Evil  effects,  viz.  loss  of  reputation,  inferring  many  losses. 


646  Skeletons  of  Sermons. 

e.  g.  of  comfort,  esteem,  interest,  irienclship,  &c  \  ill-will  amoog 
neighbours^  bad  example  to  others;  manner  how  reports  spreai 
in  an  instant. 

.  7.  Evil  effects  to  ourselves;  retaliation;  hatred;  contempt;  loss 
of  time;  no  advantage;  no  sensual  or  reasonable  pleasure;  oo 
esteem.  [Prov.  x.  18,  'He  that  uttereth  slander  is  a  fool,']  This 
damns  more  souls  than  murder  or  robbery. 

8.  Counsel  to  cherish  charity  towards  others.  [Titus  iiL  a, 
*  Speak  evil  of  no  man ; '  and  S.  James  iv.  11,'  Speak  not  evil  one 
of  another.']  To  look  narrowly  into  ourselves ;  talk  ;  to  examine 
whether  we  have  not  the  same,  or  as  bad,  or  even  worse  ;  beam  in 
our  own  eye ;  great  use  in  examining  ours,  none  in  others. 

9.  Pharisee  and  publican ;  severe  to  ourselves,  candid  to  others; 
all  criminals  at  the  same  bar;  inditing  our  neighbour,  we  swell 
our  own  indictment.  *  Judge  not,  that  you  be  not  judged,'  &c., 
Matt.  vii.  I,  2;  Rom.  xiv.  4. 


XI. 

PREACHED  AT  NEWPORT.     [NO  DATE.] 

James  iv.  ii. 
Speak  not  evil  one  of  another. 

Vices,  like  weeds,  different  in  different  countries;  national 
vice  familiar;  intemperate  lust  in  Italy,  drinking  in  Germany; 
tares  wherever  there  is  good  seed;  though  not  sensual,  not  less 
deadly;  e.g.  detraction :  would  not  steal  6</.,  but  rob  a  man  of  his 
reputation;  they  who  have  no  relish  for  wine  have  itching  ears 
for  scandal ;  this  vice  often  observed  in  sober  people ;  praise  and 
blame  natural  justice;  where  we  know  a  man  lives  in  habitual 
sin  unrepented,  we  may  prevent  hypocrites  from  doing  evil ;  but 
to  judge  without  enquiry,  to  shew  a  facility  in  believing  and  a 
readiness  to  report  evil  of  one's  neighbour;  frequency,  little  horror, 
great  guilt ;  ext. 

4  points;  not  contrary  to;  whence  it  springs;  what  eflfccts; 
arguments  and  exhortation  against  it. 


Skeletons  of  Sermons.  647 

Contrary  to  charity :  i  Cor.  xiii.  4, 5, 6,  ['  Charity  suflfereth  long, 
and  is  kind ;  charity  envieth  not ;  is  not  easily  provoked,  thinketh 
no  evil;  rejoiceth  not  in  iniquity,  but  rejoiceth  in  the  truth;'] 
taking  things  in  the  worst  sense  mark  of  hatred. 

Contrary  to  justice :  not  doing  as  we  would  be  done  by ;  S.  James 
iv.  I  a,  [*  Who  art  thou  that  judgest  another?*]  Judges  obliged  to 
inform  themselves ;  moral  good  and  evil  depends  on  unseen 
springs ;  life,  goods,  and  reputation  3  chief  possessions,  wrong  in 
the  two  first  evident* 

Springs  from  want  of  merit :  readiness  to  suspect  others,  token 
of  inward  guilt.     He  that  cannot  rise  would  depress. 

^rings  from  malignant  nature :  like  to  God  and  the  devil  by 
different  qualities ;  spider,  toad,  and  bee ;  pride  and  ill-will  sources 
of  detraction. 

Evil  eflFects  to  others :  loss  of  reputation  inferring  many  losses, 
c,g.  of  comfort,  esteem,  interest,  friendship;  ill-will  among  neigh- 
bours ;  bad  example  to  others ;  [how  reports  spread  in  an  instant]. 

Evil  eflFects  to  ourselves:  retaliation,  hatred,  contempt,  loss  of 
time,  no  advantage,  no  pleasure  sensual  or  rational.  [Prov.  x.  18, 
*  He  that  uttereth  slander  is  a  fool.*]  This  damns  more  souls  than 
murder  or  robbery. 

Counsel  to  cherish  charity  towards  others  :  [Titus  iii.  2,  *  Speak 
evil  of  no  man;*]  to  look  narrowly  into  ourselves;  to  examine 
whether  we  have  not  the  same  or  as  bad  or  even  worse ;  beam  in 
our  own  eye;  great  use  in  examining  ourselves,  little  in  our 
neighbours ;  severe  to  ourselves,  candid  to  others ;  reverse  of  the 
Pharisee;  all  criminals  at  the  same  bar;  judge  not,  that  you  be 
not  judged. 

Let  a  man  examine  himself,  enough  to  tire,  not  to  satisfy,  if 
pleased  with  others*  defects,  &c.;  mark  of  reprobation,  because 
contrary  to  mark  of  Christ's  disciples;  because  it  makes  men 
likest  to  Satan ;  he  is  by  etymology  an  enemy  to  mankind ;  he  is 
by  oflEce  father  of  lies;  he  tempts  men  to  sensuality,  but  he  is  in 
his  own  nature  malicious  and  malignant ;  pride  and  ill-nature  two 
vices  most  severely  rebuked  by  our  Saviour. 

All  deviations  sinful,  but  those  upon  dry  purpose  more  so; 
malignity  of  spirit  like  an  ulcer  in  the  nobler  parts,  less  visible 
but  more,  &c.;  age  cures  sensual  vices,  this  grows  with  age; 
[James  i.  a6,  *  If  any  man  among  you  seem  to  be  religious,  and 


648  Skeletons  of  Sermons. 

bridleth  not  his  tongue,  that  man's  religion  is  vain ;'  form  of  god- 
liness, &c.] ;  more  to  be  guarded  against  because  less  scandalous; 
imposing  on  others  and  even  on  themselves  as  religion  and  a  zeal 
for  God's  service,  when  it  really  proceeds  only  fix>m  ill-will  to 
man,  and  is  no  part  of  our  duty  to  God,i>ut  directly  contrary  to  it 
[Ps.  XV.  I,  3,  <  Lord,  who  shall  abide  in  thy  tabernacle  ?  who  shall 
dwell  in  thy  holy  hill?  he  that  backbiteth  not  with  his  tongue, 
nor  taketh  up  a  reproach  against  his  neighbour.'] 


XII. 
PREACHED  AT  NEWPORT.     [NO  DATE.] 

Luke  ii.  14. 
Glory  to  God  in  the  highest ^  and  on  earth  peace,  good-^vill  totwards  men. 

1.  First  creation  and  second:  ['when  the  morning  stars  sang 
together,  and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy'].  Messiah  pre- 
destinated from  the  beginning.  Adam^,  Abraham '^  Jacobs,  Ba- 
laam*, David,  Isaiah,  Daniel,  &c.  types.  Isaiah  ix.  6.  First 
long  foretold ;  anniversary  advent  celebrated.  [Devotion,  respect, 
meditation],  three  points  in  the  text.  [^  The  seed  of  the  woman 
that  should  bruise  the  serpent's  head.  -^  ^In  thee  shall  all  the 
families  of  the  earth  be  blessed.'  ^  Shiloh,  to  whom  the  gathering 
of  the  people  should  be.  ^  c  j  shall  see  him,  but  not  now :  I  shall 
behold  him,  but  not  nigh :  there  shall  come  a  Star  out  of  Jacob, 
and  a  Sceptre  shall  rise  out  of  Israel.'] 

2.  Kingdom  of  darkness  and  of  light :  lust  and  brutality  and 
ignorance ;  knowledge,  truth,  faith,  virtue,  grace.  Magnify,  thank, 
praise,  worship,  not  as  Pagans,  nor  as  Jews,  but  in  spirit  and 
truth.  [Glory  be  to  God,  as  excellent  praised,  as  good  beloved,  as 
powerful  adored.  He  is  not  proud  of  our  praise,  or  fond  of  our 
worship ;  but  &c.] 

3.  Charity,  love,  forgiveness,  peace,  doing  good,  mark  and  dis- 
tinction, life,  soul,  substance  of  our  religion.  Eph.  iv.  31 ;  i  Cor. 
iii  3,  4.     Beatitudes ;  herein  goodness  of  God. 


Skeletons  of  Sermons.  649 

4.  Good-will  from  sin  to  holiness,  death  to  life,  enmity  to  re- 
conciliation. I  John  iv.  9,  10  i  Isai.  liii.  4,  5,  6.  No  cloud,  whirl- 
wind, fire,  &c.,  but  &c.  Frost  and  darkness  before  the  sun.  Jews 
under  the  law  saved  by  the  same  means.    Faint  light.  2  Pet.  i.  1 9. 

[5.  Phil.  ii.  6,  7.  God  rendered  more  visible,  not  more  present, 
by  incarnation.  Light  of  the  sun  unpolluted.  Believe  what  is 
revealed,  content  therewith.] 

6.  How  is  God  glorified  when  sin  abounds?  Resp.  It  less 
abounds ;  glorified  one  way  in  the  righteous,  another  in  the  wicked. 
How  is  peace  upon  earth  ?  Resp.  Among  true  Christians,  and  all 
are  exhorted  to  be  so :  [wars  not  from  religion,  but  from  avarice 
and  ambition  and  revenge;  religion  only  pretext.]  How  doth 
goodwill  appear  to  men,  since  they  abuse  the  gospel  ?  Resp.  Good- 
will in  the  offer,  not  in  the  use ;  God  gracious,  though  man  be 
wicked.  That  our  nature,  which  was  polluted,  might  be  sanctified, 
infirm  strengthened,  estranged  reconciled,  doomed  to  hell  admitted 
into  heaven.  Adam's  curse  reversed  between  sentence  and  exe- 
cution before.  Shall  angels,  stars,  inanimate  nature,  and  not 
man  ?  Our  Blessed  Lord  comes  to  wash,  redeem,  adopt ;  but  man 
will  not  be  washed,  will  not  &c.  What  more  pitifril  and  prepos- 
terous than  that  we  should  reject  the  tender  mercies  of  the  Lord, 
renounce  our  adoption,  forfeit  our  inheritance  in  that  blessed 
region  where  Christ — whence — whither,  &c. 


VISITATION    CHARGE. 


Since  the  duty  of  my  station  and  the  received  custom  require 
me,  at  this  my  first  visitation,  to  propose  to  you  whatever  I  shall 
think  conducive  to  the  better  discharge  of  the  important  trust 
committed  to  your  care,  I  shall  desire  your  attention  for  a  few 
minutes. 

You  all  know,  and  indeed  it  is  but  too  visible  that  we  live  in 
an  age  wherein  many  are  neither  propitious  to  our  order  nor  to  the 
religion  we  profess — scoflFers,  walking  after  their  own  lusts,  which 
St.  Peter  foretold  should  come  in  these  last  days.  It  behoves, 
therefore,  clergymen  to  behave  with  more  than  common  vigilance, 
xeal,  and  discretion,  if  they  would  either  preserve  the  love  and 
reverence  of  their  friends,  or  disarm  the  censure  of  their  enemies. 
Thus  much  concerning  all  clergymen  in  general,  as  such. 

But  those  of  the  Established  Church  in  this  kingdom  have  need 
of  double  diligence  in  their  callings^  and  an  extraordinary  circum- 
spection in  their  behaviour,  as  we  live  among  men  of  a  diflFerent 
communion,  abounding  in  numbers,  obstinate  in  their  prejudices, 
backward  to  acknowledge  any  merits,  and  ready  to  remark  any 
defects  in  those  who  differ  from  them.  And  this  circumstance 
should  make  us  not  only  more  cautious  how  we  behave  among 
such  neighbours,  but  likewise  more  diligent  and  active  in  their 
conversion. 

Though  it  is  to  be  feared  that  clergymen  too  often  look  on 
Papistry  within  their  parishes  as  having  no  relation  to  them,  nor 
being  at  all  entitled  to  any  share  of  their  pains  or  concern.  But 
if  they  are  not  so  properly  and  immediately  part  of  our  flock  as 
those  of  our  own  communion,  they  are  nevertheless  to  be  con- 
sidered as  members  of  the  Catholic  Church,  very  corrupt,  indeed, 
and  unsound,  yet  professing  faith  in  the  same  Saviour.  And  this 
gives  them  some  relation  to  us  more  than  mere  infidels  and 
heathen.     But  supposing  them  to  be  no  better  than  infidels  or 


Visitalion  Charge. 


651 


keathcn,  will  any  man  say  that  it  is  not  the  duty  of  Christ's 
ministers  to  convert  infidels  and  preach  the  Gospel  to  heathen? 
Had  such  a  maxim  prevailed  in  the  primitive  times,  how  could 
Christianity  have  been  propagated  throughout  the  world? 

True  it  is  that,  as  the  education  of  Protestants  is  for  the  most 
part  more  liberal  and  ingenuous  than  that  of  Roman  Catholics, 
■o  those  of  our  communion  are  more  ready  to  argue  and  more 
ipt  to  judge  for  themselves  than  they.  Protestants,  I  say,  arc 
neither  50  blind  nor  so  enslaved  as  their  adversaries  i  who  are  made 
to  believe  that  every  the  least  doubt  in  religious  matters  is  crimi- 
nal, or  even  the  giving  ear  to  anything  that  can  be  said  against 
their  preconceived  opinions.  And,  indeed,  herein  consists  the 
Aicf  skill  and  management  of  their  priests  to  keep  their  flocks 
both  blind  and  deaf.  For  could  they  be  but  once  brought  to  open 
their  eyes  and  reason  upon  the  points  in  controversy,  the  business 
rf  their  conversion  would  be  more  than  half  done. 

The  main  point,  therefore,  is  lo  bring  them  to  reason  and 
irgue;  in  order  to  which  it  should  seem  the  right  way  to  b^in 
with  a  proper  behaviour.  We  should  be  towards  them  charitable, 
^ntle,  obliging,  returning  good  for  evil,  showing  and  having  a 
true  concern  for  their  interest,  not  always  inveighing  against  their 
tf)surdities  and  impieties.  At  least  we  ought  not  to  begin  with 
taxing  them  as  fools  and  villains,  but  rather  treat  of  the  general 
kKtrines  of  morality  and  religion  wherein  all  Christians  agree, 
in  order  to  obtain  their  good  opinion,  and  so  make  way  for  the 
Joints  controverted  between  us,  which  will  then  be  handled  with 
p«ater  advantage. 

I  say  we  must  first  win  upon  their  affections,  and  so  having 
procured  a  favourable  hearing,  then  apply  to  their  reason.  If  wc 
pidge  of  other  men's  tempers  by  our  own,  we  shall  conceive  it  ex- 
jiedient  that  we  should  seem  to  think  the  best  of  their  personal 
qualities,  their  integrity,  and  love  of  truth  j  use  the  greatest  can- 
itour  ourselves,  make  all  possible  concessions,  appeal  to  their  own 
reason,  and  make  them  judges  of  our  tenets  and  the  arguments  by 
which  we  support  them. 

It  is  a  remarkable  difference  between  them  and  us,  that  they 
find  their  principal  account  in  addressing  to  the  passions  of  men, 
we  in  applying  to  their  reason ;  they  to  the  meanest  capacities, 
■re   to   the   most   distinguished   and    improved-      In  fact,  if  we 


I 


652  Visitation  Charge. 

consider  the  proselytes  on  both  sides,  we  shall  find  the  converts  to 
the  Church  of  Rome  to  be  mostly  women  and  uneducated  people; 
whereas  the  converts  from  Popery  are  those  of  the  best  sense  and 
education  among  them.  Were  there  many  of  this  sort,  it  should 
seem  less  difficult  for  us  to  make  proselytes.  But  even  as  it  is, 
there  is  still  a  difference  between  them.  And  we  may  presume 
the  better  sort  will  be  more  easily  wrought  on;  nothing  being 
more  sure  than  that  ignorance  is  ever  attended  with  the  most 
obstinate  prejudice,  men  making  up  for  want  of  lig^t  by  abundance 
of  heat.  And  if  the  better  sort  were  once  converted,  the  natural 
inclination  of  following  their  chiefs  would  soon  facilitate  the  con- 
version of  others. 

One  would  imagine  it  might  not  be  impossible  to  prevail  with 
reasonable  men  of  the  Church  of  Rome  to  come  into  our  religious 
assemblies,  if  it  were  only  for  curiosity ;  and  this  might  take  off 
much  of  their  prejudice  and  aversion,  by  letting  them  see  what  our 
worship  is^  although  they  should  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  join  in 
it.  And  yet,  all  things  considered,  what  should  hinder  a  professed 
Papist  from  hearing  a  sermon,  or  even  joining  occasionally  in  the 
ordinary  offices  of  our  Church?  The  difference  is  that  in  our 
liturgy  divers  prayers  and  hymns  are  omitted  which  are  to  be  found 
in  theirs.  But  then,  what  is  retained  even  they  themselves  ap- 
prove of;  since  we  innovated  nothing,  having  only  weeded  out 
and  thrown  away  those  superstitions  that  grew  up  in  the  dark  and 
ignorant  ages  of  the  Church.  *  May  we  not  therefore  argue  with 
the  Papists  thus : — There  is  nothing  in  our  worship  which  you  can- 
not assent  to,  therefore  you  may  conform  to  us;  but  there  are 
many  things  in  yours  that  we  can  by  no  means  allow,  therefore 
you  must  not  expect  that  we  can  join  in  your  assemblies. 

It  were  needless  to  furnish  you  with  arguments  against  such 
adversaries.  The  only  difficulty  lies  in  bringing  them  into  the 
field.  True  it  is  that  prejudices  early  imbibed  and  sunk  deep  in 
the  mind  are  not  immediately  got  rid  of;  but  it  is  as  true  that 
in  every  human  creature  there  is  a  ray  of  common  sense,  an 
original  light  of  reason  and  nature  which  the  worst  and  most 
bigoted  education,  although  it  may  impair,  can  never  quite  ex- 
tinguish. There  is  no  man  who  considers  seriously  but  must  sec 
that  whatever  flatters  men  in  their  sins,  whatever  encourages 
cruelty  and  persecution,  whatever  implies  a  manifest  contradiction, 


Visitation  Charge,  653 

whatever  savours  of  fraud  and  imposture,  can  be  no  part  of  the 
wisdom  ftt)m  above,  can  never  come  from  God.  When,  therefore, 
you  can  bring  one  of  these  adversaries  to  consider  attentively  and 
argue  calmly  on  the  points  that  divide  us,  you  will  soon  find  his 
own  reason  on  your  side. 

But  although  you  who  have  the  care  of  souls  were  ever  so 
capable  and  ever  so  willing  to  bring  the  strayed  sheep  into  the 
Bock,  to  enlighten  and  convince  your  adversaries,  yet  it  may 
perhaps  still  be  said,  that  there  is  an  insuperable  difficulty  in 
coming  at  them,  that  they  are  so  many  deaf  adders  that  stop  their 
ears  and  hear  not  the  voice  of  the  charmer,  charm  he  never  so 
wisely.  This,  I  grant,  is  a  great  difficulty,  but  do  not  think  it  an 
insuperable  one.  Opportunities  may  be  found,  and  sometimes 
oflFer  of  themselves,  if  they  are  not  overlooked  or  neglected. 

The  work,  I  own,  might  be  more  easily  done  if  Papists  could  be 
brought  to  seek  instruction  and  attend  your  sermons.  But  even 
where  this  cannot  be  hoped  for,  may  not  something  be  done  by 
conversation?  Occasional  discourse,  I  say,  that  imperceptibly 
glides  from  one  subject  to  another,  may  be  so  conducted  by  a 
prudent  person  to  those  topics  he  hath  a  mind  to  treat  of,  as  if 
they  naturally  arose  from  what  went  before,  or  came  by  accident 
in  the  way.  We  may  observe  that,  whenever  the  inclination  is 
strongly  set  towards  a  thing  or  bent  on  any  purpose,  handles  for 
attaining  it  do  now  and  then  present  themselves  which  might 
otherwise  never  be  thought  of. 

The  Protestant  friends  and  Protestant  relations  of  Roman 
Catholics  may  ftu-nish  occasions  of  your  meeting  and  conversing 
with  those  whom  you  may  perhaps  think  you  cannot  so  properly 
visit  at  their  own  houses ;  though  it  were  to  be  wished  that  good 
neighbourhood  and  the  friendly  commerce  of  life  was  not  inter- 
rupted by  difference  in  religion.  It  is  certain  that  the  very  same 
doctrine  which  a  man  would  never  read  in  a  book  or  hear  in  a 
sermon,  may  sometimes  be  insinuated  in  free  conversation :  that 
a  subject,  which,  if  proposed  at  once  might  shock,  being  intro- 
duced by  degrees  might  take:  that  what  comes  as  it  were  from 
chance  is  often  admitted,  while  that  which  looks  like  design  is 
guarded  against :  and  that  he  who  will  not  seek  instruction  may 
nevertheless  receive  it. 

And  even  in  those  cases  where  you  are  utterly  excluded  from 


654  Visitation  Charge. 


any  immediate  intercouorse  with  your  Popish  parishioaers,  if  the 
more  religious  laymen  of  your  parish  were  sufficiently  instructed 
in  the  chief  points  of  the  Popish  controversy,  I  apprehend  it  mig|it 
often  lie  in  their  way  to  give  a  helping  hand  toward  the  con- 
version of  Papists;  who,  although  they  will  not  submit  to  be 
taught,  may  yet  condescend  to  teach,  to  inform  those  that  shall 
appear  inquisitive,  to  resolve  a  doubt  modestly  proposed ;  and  may 
by  such  means  be  drawn  into  an  argument  before  they  are  aware 
of  it.  Neighbourhood  gives  opportunities,  and  dependence  gives 
an  influence;  all  which  opportunities  and  influence  might,  one 
would  think^  produce  something,  especially  if  managed  and  im- 
proved with  skill. 

There  is,  doubtless,  an  indiscreet,  warm,  overbearing  manner; 
and  in  the  bands  of  those  who  have  it  the  best  arguments  are 
weak,  and  the  best  cause  will  suflFer.  There  is,  on  the  other  hand, 
a  gentle,  prudent,  and  obliging  way  which  would  be  an  advantage 
to  the  worst,  a  way  that  softens  the  heart  and  prepares  it  for  con- 
viction. Would  you  in  earnest  make  proselytes,  follow  St.  Paul's 
example,  and  in  his  sense  *  become  all  things  to  all  men,*  that  you 
may  gain  some.  Adopt  as  much  as  you  conscientiously  can  ot 
their  ways  of  thinking;  suit  yourselves  to  their  capacities  and 
their  characters;  put  yourselves  in  their  places,  and  then  consider 
how  you  should  like  to  be  dealt  with,  and  what  would  offend  you. 
If  your  intention  is  rather  to  gain  a  proselyte  than  to  triumph  over 
him,  you  must  manage  his  passions,  and  skilfully  touch  his  preju- 
dices. To  convince  men,  you  must  not  begin  with  shocking, 
angering,  or  shaming  them. 

I  do  not  mean  that  you  should  favour  their  prejudices,  or  pal- 
liate their  absurdities;  on  the  contrary,  when  you  have  once 
obtained  a  favourable  hearing,  when  you  have  prepossessed  th^m 
with  an  opinion  of  your  own  candour,  when,  by  a  skilful  appli- 
cation of  '  precept  upon  precept,  line  upon  line,  here  a  little  and 
there  a  little '  (to  use  the  prophet's  language),  you  have  in  some 
measure  made  them  sensible  of  errors  and  wrong  principles, — you 
may  then  proceed  to  set  the  wickedness  of  their  practices  and  the 
absurdities  of  their  superstitions  in  the  strongest  light,  and  paint 
them  in  their  true  colours. 

I  told  you  before  that  it  was  not  my  design  to  furnish  you  with 
argumejits  against  the  Church  of  Rome,  which  I  conceive  you  are 


Visilation  Charge. 


6S5 


jtr^ady  sufficiently  provided  with.     All  I  intended  was  to  give  you 
me  general  directions  about  the  use  and  application  of  them. 
Before  I  quit  this  subject  I  must  recommend  it  to  your  care  to 

Cquaint  yourselves  with  the  state  of  Popery,  and  diligently  to 
1  over  its  prt^ess  or  decrease.     In  order  to  which  it  is  highly 

||)cdient  that  you  inform  yourselves  annually  of  the  numbers  of 

kpists  within  your  respective  parishes.    Your  own  discretion  will 

sow  you  the  easiest  way  for  doing  this.  One  thing  1  will  ven- 
re  to  say,  that  it  Is  not  impossible  to  be  done,  and  I  am  sure 
ought  to  be  done. 

I  believe  you  are  not  ignorant  that  some  measures  have  been 
rmerly  taken  in  several  parts  of  the  kingdom,  I  mean  by  itinerant 
eachers  in  the  Irish  tongue,  which  failed  of  the  desired  efFect; 

(her  measures  are  also  now  set  on  foot  by  charity  schools,  which 
is  hoped  may  have  better  success.  But  neither  the  miscarriage 
the  one,  nor  the  hopes  of  the  other,  should  prevent  every  one  of 
u  from  setting  his  hand  to  the  plough,  as  opportunity  serves. 

lie  Protestant  preachers  in  the  Irish  tongue  failed  of  success  for 
,nt  of  audiences;  and  this  was  without  remedy.    But  that  which 

U  not  do  in  one  time  or  place  may,  perhaps,  succeed  better  in 

DOther.  At  least,  I  wish  it  were  tried,  if  any  amongst  you  are 
ifficient  masters  of  the  language.  As  for  the  Protestant  schools, 
have  nothing  particular  to  say,  more  than  recommend  to  your 

misal  what  hath  been  already  published  on  that  subject. 
But  all  methods,  I  fear,  will  be  ineffectual  if  the  clergy  do  not 
-operate  and  exert  themselves  with  due  zeal  and  diligence  for 

Dmpassing  so  desirable  an  end  ;  which,  if  it  were  once  set  about 

Idth  the  same  earnest  and  hearty  endeavours  that  the  Popish  clergy 
ow  in  their  missions,  we  should,  I  doubt  not,  in  a  little  time  see 
different  face  of  things,  considering  the  great  advantages  that 
u  possess  over  your  adversaries,  having  such  superiority  of  edu- 
[tion,  such  protection  fnjm  the  laws,  sucli  enaiuragcmcnt  and 
untenance  from   the  government:  in  a  word,  every  reasonable 

elp  and  motive  is  on  our  side,  as  well  as  the  truth  of  our  cause. 
And  yet,  as  things  are,  little  is  done;  which  must  undoubtedly 
!  owii^,  not  so  much  to  the  difficulty  of  the  work,  as  to  the 
rmissness  of  those  who  ought  to  do  it.     In  the  beginning  of  the 

lefbrmation  many  proselytes  were  made  by  Protestant  divines. 
there  then  less  prejudice  on  one  side,  or  more  ability  on  the 


656  Visitaiion  Charge. 

other?  Nothing  of  this,  but  only  a  greater  measure  of  Zealand 
diligence  in  the  Reformers.  It  must,  without  doubt,  to  any  in- 
different observer  seem  a  little  unaccountable  that  in  a  country 
where  the  true  religion  hath  been  so  long  established,  there  should 
yet  remain  so  great  a  majority  involved  in  blindness  and  super- 
stition. This,  I  say,  will  hardly  be  accounted  for  if  the  clergy  are 
supposed  with  due  care  and  pains  to  discharge  their  duty. 

An  habitual  or  a  prevailing  neglect  may  perhaps  still  incline 
some  to  think  that  this  is  no  part  of  their  duty.  Others  may  be 
apt  to  conclude  that  where  there  is  no  penalty  appointed  by  the 
law  of  the  land,  there  is  no  obligation.  But  surely  it  must  be  very 
wrong  and  very  strange  for  a  Christian  pastor  to  measure  his  duty 
by  the  rule  either  of  law  or  of  custom.  There  is  a  rule  of  con- 
science and  a  rule  of  Scripture,  and  by  these  rules  it  is  evidently 
the  duty  of  parochial  clergy  to  labour  the  conversion  of  those 
who  are  infected  with  idolatry  or  superstition  within  their  several 
parishes.  But,  besides  all  this,  there  is  an  express  canon  directing 
all  ministers  to  confer  with  the  Popish  recusants  within  their 
parishes,  in  order  to  reclaim  them  fix)m  their  errors. 

Rather  than  treat  in  general  of  the  pastoral  care,  I  have  chosen 
to  dwell  on  this  particular  branch,  which  seems  less  attended  to. 
I  have  endeavoured  to  show  you  that  it  is  really  a  branch  of  your 
duty,  that  it  is  a  duty  not  impossible  to  be  executed,  and  what 
methods  seem  to  me  most  likely  to  succeed,  which,  if  diligently 
put  in  practice,  cannot,  I  think,  be  altogether  without  eflFect.  But 
if  nothing  else  should  ensue,  you,  my  brethren,  will  at  least  have 
the  satisfaction  of  being  conscious  that  it  was  not  for  want  of 
using  your  best  endeavours.  It  is  impossible,  indeed,  minutely 
to  prescribe  what  should  be  done,  how  much,  and  in  what  manner. 
That  must  be  left  to  every  man's  conscience  and  discretion.  But, 
in  conclusion,  I  recommend  it  to  you  all,  both  in  the  dischai^e  of 
this  duty,  and  in  every  other  part  of  your  conduct,  to  have  constantly 
before  your  eyes  that  most  excellent  and  extensive  precept  of  our 
Blessed  Saviour :  ^  Be  ye  wise  as  serpents  and  innocent  as  doves.' 

Out  of  Bishop  Butler's  Letter : — '  However,  one  must  not  so  fer 
despair  of  religion  as  to  neglect  one's  proper  part  with  regard  to 
it;  and  they  who  take  care  to  perform  it  faithfully,  have  the 
comfort  that  all  will  finally  end  well  for  themselves,  whatever 
becomes  of  this  mad  world.' 


ADDRESS    ON    CONFIRMATION. 

(No  date.) 

It  is  fit  that  you  who  are  brought  hither  to  be  confirmed  should, 
in  the  first  place,  be  made  acquainted  with  the  nature  and  reason  of 
this  institution  j  in  order  to  which  you  must  understand  that  there 
is  a  twofold  kingdom  of  Jesus  Christ* 

For  first,  as  he  is  the  eternal  Son  of  God^  he  is  lord  and  sovereign 
of  all  things*  And  in  this  large  sense  the  whole  world  or  universe 
may  be  said  to  compose  the  kingdom  of  Christ.  But  secondly, 
besides  this  large  and  general  sense,  the  kingdom  of  Christ  is  also 
taken  in  a  more  narrow  sense,  as  it  signifies  his  Church.  The 
Christian  Church,  I  say,  is  in  a  peculiar  sense  his  kingdom,  being 
a  society  of  persons,  not  only  subject  to  his  power,  but  also  con- 
forming themselves  to  his  will,  living  according  to  his  precepts, 
and  thereby  entitled  to  the  promises  of  his  gospel. 

This  peculiar  kingdom  or  Church  of  Christ  hath  great  and 
peculiar  privileges.  While  the  rest  of  the  wprld  is  estranged  from 
God  and  liable  to  the  sentence  of  eternal  death,  the  Church  is 
reconciled  to  God  through  Christ,  is  justified  by  faith  in  him, 
redeemed  by  his  sufferings,  and  sanctified  by  his  Spirit ;  no  longer 
subject  to  death,  sin,  or  the  devil,  but  made  children  of  God  and 
heirs  of  eternal  life. 

This  happy  state  is  called  the  state  of  grace,  wherein  those  who 
were  by  nature  children  of  wrath  are  become  objects  of  the  divine 
favour.  The  conditions  of  your  admission  into  this  state  are  faith 
and  repentance,  and  the  outward  sign  and  seal  thereof  is  baptism. 
Christ  reconciles  us  to  God  and  takes  us  under  his  protection  ^ 
but  then  it  is  in  virtue  of  a  covenant,  and  a  covenant  requires 
something  to  be  done  on  both  sides.  If  much  is  promised  on  the 
part  of  God,  somewhat  is  to  be  promised  and  performecl  on  ours 
also.      If  you  hope   for  the  divine  blessings,  you  must  not  be 

VOL.  IV.  u  u 


658  Address  on  Confirmation. 

unmindful  of  the  promises   to   the   performance   whereof  those 
blessings  were  annexed.     And  forasmuch  as  such  promises  were 
made  in  your  name  by  yoiu-  godfathers  and  godmothers  at  a  time 
when  you  were  unable  to  make  them  yourselves,  or  to  understand 
the  force  and  meaning  of  them,  it  is  fit  that,  now  you  are  grown 
up,  you  should  take  them  upon  yourselves.      And  though  your 
assent  hath  been  often  implied  and  declared  by  the  repetitions 
of  creeds  and  catechisms,  yet  it  is  highly  expedient  for  the  more 
full,  open,  and  solemn  declaration  thereof  that  you  do  in  the  face 
of  the  Church  renew  your  baptismal  vow,  and  manifest  your  entire 
assent  to  all  that  which  your  sureties  had  before  promised  in  your 
name  and  on  your  behalf. 

This  declaration  will  most  solemnly  engage  you  to  the  per- 
formance of  three  things :  first,  that  you  shall  renounce  the  devil 
and  all  his  works,  the  pride  of  life,  and  the  sinful  lusts  of  the 
flesh  ;  secondly,  that  you  shall  believe  all  the  articles  of  the 
Christian  faith,  which  are  summed  up  in  the  Apostles'  Creed  ^ 
and  in  the  third  place,  that  you  shall  conform  your  lives  to  the 
will  and  commandments  of  Almighty  God. 

All  those  things  which  your  sureties  have  undertaken  for  you, 
and  which  the  faith  you  have  hitherto  professed  doth  already 
oblige  you  to  perform,  doth  the  present  public  deliberate  renewal 
of  your  vow,  at  this  time  and  place  in  your  own  proper  persons, 
after  a  more  especial  manner  bind  upon  your  consciences.  And 
that  you  may  be  the  better  enabled  to  discharge  these  obligations, 
you  must  pray  to  God  for  the  assistance  of  his  grace  and  Holy 
Spirit. 

I  have  thought  it  fit  to  insist  on  these  particulars,  not  only  for 
the  instruction  of  those  who  present  themselves  to  be  confirmed, 
but  also  for  the  sake  of  all  who  hear  me,  to  the  end  that  all  such 
who  having  before  received  confirmation,  might  nevertheless  not 
have  hitherto  reflected  duly  thereon,  being  made  sensible  of  the 
great  concern  and  importance  of  the  engagements  they  have 
entered  into,  may  seriously  think  of  fulfilling  them  for  the  future, 
which  God  of  his  infinite  mercy  grant. 


INDEX. 


A. 


Abbott,  Sight  and  Touch,  398  n. 

Abstract  ideas,  33. 

Addison,  55,  59,  89,  334. 

^£tna,  587 ;  Borellus  on,  ih. 

JEtaa,  and  Vesuvius,  589. 

Aldphron,  written  in  Rhode  Island, 
1 67 ;  describes  Rhode  Island  scenery, 
168;  published,  195;  argument  less 
abstract  than  in  his  earlier  writings, 
196;  occasioned  a  polemical  criti- 
cism by  Bishop  Browne,  1 99 ;  misses 
the  moral  depth  of  Pascal,  ih, ;  com- 
pared with  Butler's  Analogy,  300; 
criticised,  303,  cf.  n, ;  New  Theory 
of  Vision  appended  to,  303 ;  at- 
tacked by  Warburton,  Hoadly,  Lord 
Hervey,  in  Uhlii  Sylloge,  303 ;  by 
Bishop  Browne,  333 ;  third  edition 
of,  342. 

Amberley,  Lady,  her  description  of 
Whitehall,  166  n. 

America,  Berkeley's  verses  on,  103. 

Analogy,  what?  according  to  Bishop 
Browne,  199;  according  to  Bishop 
Butler,  300. 

Analyst,  first  hints  of  the,  310;  an 
argumentum  ad  hominem,  335  ; 
mathematics  defective,  336;  com- 
mended by  the  Bishop  of  London, 
338 ;  the  controversy  it  occasioned, 

.  339- 
awtipop,  r6f  366  if. 

Arbitrariness  in  natural  law,  467. 

Arbuthnot,  Dr.,  55,  60,  88  n.,  89,  308 ; 

mentions  Berkeley,  73 ;  letter  to, 

from  Berkeley,  78. 
Archdall,  Rev.  Mervyn,  339,  cf.  n. 
Archetypal  ideas,  375,  378,  383  n. 
Archetypes,  ideas  of  sense  are,  461. 
Archetypes  of  ideas  of  sense,  176. 


Archimedes,  431. 

Architecture,  Berkeley's  skill  in,  153^. 

Ariano,  564. 

Aristotle,  his  four  causes,  366  ». ; 
common  sensibles,  396  n.,  447  n. 

Arnold,  Jonathan,  of  Westhaven,  345. 

Arpac,  537. 

Ascoli,  563. 

Ashe,  Dr.  St.  George,  ordains  Ber- 
keley, 47 ;  died,  85  ;  at  Cloyne,  330. 

Ashe,  St.  George,  Berkeley's  pupil,  56, 
73,  85». 

Association  of  ideas,  403,  403,  484. 

Atterbury,  Berkeley   introduced  to, 

59,  89,  cf.  If. 

Aufidus,  river,  561. 

Augustine,  74. 

Augustus,  mausoleum  of,  visited,  538. 

Avellino,  567. 


B. 


Bacon  and  Berkeley,  43,  407. 
Baglini  on  the  effects  of  the  tarantula, 

544  ». 
Baldwin,  Provost,  84,  100. 

Bank,  plan  for  a  national,  348. 

Barberini  palace,  visited,  533. 

Bari,  544. 

Barletta,  543. 

Baronius,  500  n. 

Barrow,  Dr.,  435,  437,  479>  487,  495, 

497. 
Barton,  Richard,  on  fire  philosophy, 

39511. 
Bathurst,  Lord,  106,  308,  350. 
Baxter,  Andrew,  attacks  Berkeley's 

theory  of  matter,  333,  cf.  n. 
Bayle,  arguments  against  matter,  411. 
Beardsley ,  Life  of  Dr.  S.  Johnson,  1 7  4  »• 
Beattie,  Dr.  James,    153  m.;    upon 

Berkeley,  367  «. 


U  u  2 


66o 


INDEX. 


Belfast,  5. 

Beneventum,  538. 

Bennet,  Bishop,  describes  Cloyne  in 
a  letter  to  Dr.  Parr,  aji,  cf.  ii. 

Benson,  Martin,  Bishop  of  Gloucester, 
meets  Berkeley  in  Italy,  85 ;  inti- 
mate with  Seeker,  90;  prebendary 
of  Durham,  308 ;  made  Bishop  of 
Gloucester,  235  if. ,  280  «. ;  his 
death,  338;  his  character,  339  ».; 
ordained  Whitefield,  ib, 

Berkeley,  Bishop,  birth  and  ancestry, 
I,  2;  brothers,  9;  entered  school, 
a,  11;  entered  Trinity  College,  a, 
1 5 ;  traditions  about,  5 ;  introduced 
by  Swift  to  Lord  Berkeley,  6,  cf. «., 
54;  Commonplace  Book,  see  Com- 
monplace Book ;  his  early  studies, 
30,  36 ;  college  companions,  a  i ;  ex- 
periments on  hanging,  aa;  eccentric 
at  college,  ib,\  made  scholar,  23; 
made  fellow,!^.;  member  of  a  college 
society,  ib. ;  psychological  theory  of 
physical  points,  28 ;  his  dualism,  29 ; 
resolves  substance,  cause,  time,  and 
space  into  perception  and  being 
perceived,  3  a ;  early  practical  aim 
of  his  speculations,  34 ;  first  writings 

'  mathematical,  35 ;  tendency  to  what 
is  uncommon,  36 ;  ordained  deacon, 
47  ;  preaches  in  Trinity  College 
Chapel,  48 ;  reported  to  be  a  Jacob- 
ite, 49,72;  in  ethics  a  theological 
utilitarian,  49;  his  paper  on  alli- 
ances in  war,  50  ». ;  sub-lecturer 
in  Trinity  College,  51  ;  junior 
dean,  ib, ;  tutor  in  Trinity  College, 
52  ;  his  pupils,  ib, ;  books  borrowed 
from  college  library  by,  5a  n,\  his 
emoluments  in  Trinity  College,  53; 
appears  at  the  Court  of  Queen 
Anne,  54;  writes  essays  for  Steele 
in  the  Guardian,  57 ;  becomes  in- 
timate with  Pope,  59;  introduced 
to  Atterbury,  ib, ;  has  a  discussion 
with  Dr.  Clarke,  ib, ;  introduced  to 
Lord  Peterborough,  63 ;  accom- 
panies him  to  Italy,  64 ;  leave  of 
absence  from  Queen,  65 ;  present 
at  a  disputation  in  the  Sorbonne, 
66 ;  proposes  to  visit  Malebranche, 
67 ;  crosses  Mont  Cenis,  ib, ;  ad- 
venture at  Leghorn,  70 ;  returns  to 
London,  72;  presented  to  Prince 
and  Princess  of  Wales,  ib, ;  travels 
with  Mr.  St.  George  Ashe,  73 ;  said 
to  have  visited  Cairo,  77  ;  at  Rome, 


78;  paper  to  Royal  Society  on 
eruption  of  Mount  Vesuvius,  ib.\ 
visited  the  Grotto  del  Cane,  84; 
collected  materials  for  a  natural 
history  of  Sicily,  ib. ;  made  Senior 
Fellow,  ib. ;  returns  to  London,  87 ; 
studies  social  economy,  ib.\  be- 
comes chaplain  of  Lord  Lieutenant, 
9 1 ;  made  D.D.,  94 ;  nominated  lec- 
turer on  Divinity,  ib,\  nominated 
Dean  of  Dromore,  «^. ;  nominated 
Hebrew  lecturer,  95 ;  sources  of 
income  in  172a,  95  fi.;  nominated 
to  the  living  of  Ardtrea  and  Arboc, 
100 ;  Dean  of  Derry,  ib, ;  his  Ame- 
rican scheme,  103;  introduced  to 
Sir  R.  Walpole,  107 ;  obtains  the 
patent  for  his  college,  ib, ;  plan  for 
the  endowment  of  his  college,  ib, ; 
troubled  with  the  Vanhomrigh  le- 
gacy, 110;  rambles  in  England  115; 
his  hopes  of  an  endowment  for  his 
college,  133;  anxious  to  visit  Dublin 
privately,  141;  his  marriage,  150; 
his  wife's  family,  ib. ;  departure  for 
America,  15a;  tries  to  persuade 
Prior  and  Blackwell  to  accompany 
him,  153 ;  skill  in  architecture, 
1 53  If. ;  arrival  at  Newport,  in  Rhode 
Island,  154;  visited  the  native  In- 
dians, 161 ;  prefers  Rhode  Island 
to  Bermuda,  163;  birth  of  first 
child,  ib,\  farm  of  WhitehaD,  164; 
life  in  Rhode  Island,  166 ;  his 
alcove,  Rhode  Island,  167 ;  founded 
a  Philosophical  Society  in  Newport, 
169;  correspondence  with  Bemon, 
169  ff.;  disappointments  about  the 
Bermuda  scheme,  173 ;  correspond- 
ence with  Dr.  S.  Johnson,  177, 
179;  his  principles  adopted  and 
defended  by  Jonathan  Edwards, 
183 ;  a  slave  owner,  187  ;  death  of 
his  daughter  Lucia,  188;  sets  sail 
from  Boston  for  England,  189; 
arrives  in  London,  191;  preaches 
at  the  anniversary  meeting  of  the 
Society  for  the  Propagation  of  the 
Gospel,  ib,\  founded  scholarships 
in  Yale  College,  192-3;  donations 
of  books  to  Yale  and  Harvard 
Colleges,  195  If.;  questions  about 
social  condition  of  Ireland,  205 ; 
nominated  Dean  of  Down,  309; 
nomination  withdrawn,  ib.\  nomi- 
nated Bishop  of  Cloyne,  ib,\  de- 
sires rather  deanery  of  Dromore, 


sti;  itl  of  gout.  113,  116;  writes 
to  Johnson  about  Alciphron,  iii; 
maUieniatical  controversiea,  J25 ; 
his  space  compared  with  Kant's, 
ai6  H.,  488  n. ;  consecrated  Bishop 
of  Cioyne.  ib.  \  his  studies  at  Cloyne, 
919;  publishes  the  Querist  anony- 
mous);, 141  ;  proposes  to  admit 
Roman  Catholics  to  Trinity  Col- 
lege, 14} :  Discourse  to  Magistrates 
and  Men  in  Authority,  147 ;  scheme 
for  a  national  bank,  148;  attends 
Parliament  at  Dublin,  i;i;  speech 
in  House  of  Lords,  J53 ;  blastere, 
ib. :  labours  during  the  famine  and 
epidemic,  263 ;  experiments  upon 
tar-waler,  j6j,  agj,  398,  300 ; 
medical  studies,  365  :  upon  Roman 
Catholic  theology,  3A9-80  ;  hospi- 
talities at  Cloyne,  383  n. ;  musical 
parties  at  Cloyne,  384,  iBg ;  at- 
tempts to  revive  office  of  rural 
dean,  iBS;  ill  health,  39a,  393; 
cfiered  bishopric  of  Clogher,  302  ; 
Ibe  primacy,  joj ;  fondness  for  fine 
arts,  J09 ;  Oxford  scheme,  311; 
speculntjons  in  mete  urology  and 
natural  hL>>tory,  {ii,  314,  316;  spe- 
mlations  about  earthquakes,  }i8; 
appeal  to  the  Roman  Ca'.holic 
clergyi  joi,  310;  education  of  his 
children  at  Cioyne,  }3j ;  gave 
inedakto  Trinity  College  for  Greek 
and  Latin,  339,  330  n. ;  removes  to 
Oxford,  3J4,  jj6;  wislies  to  resign 
his  bishopric,  334 ;  converts  a  child 
into  a  Eiant,  };s  n.-,  life  at  Oxford, 
ill  \  publishes  his  Miscellany,  343  ; 
David  Hume,  343:  his  death,  344, 
cf.  a. ;  his  will,  345 ;  buried  in  Chrkt 
Church  Chapel,  ib.  \  his  epitaph, 
347 ;  bis  character,  ib. ;  pictures  of, 
348  n. ;  his  scholarship,  390;  a  dis- 
cernible unity  in  his  life,  362;  in- 
augurated the  second  era  in  modem 
philosophy,  363,  36X,  369;  his  new 
question,  364 ;  how  understood  by 
Hume,  366 ;  how  understood  by 
the  Scotch  psychologists,  367  «,; 
his  use  of  idea,  369,  cf.  n. ;  mere 
sensation  as  impossible  as  matter, 
371;  explanation  of  physical  sub- 
stantiality and  causality,  375;  ap- 
plication of  his  principles  to  physical 
sciences,  376 ;  confuses  sensible 
things  and  foncies  of  imagination, 
!79;  his  immediate  perception  com- 


fi'-Y,  661  , 

pared  with  that  of  Reid,  Hamilton, 
and  Mansel,  385,  385,  )86,  cf.  n., 
387,  390;  his  mediate  perception, 
393  ;  his  theory  of  visual  language, 
193-401  ;  his  ultimate  universal 
conceptions,  401 ;  recognises  ne- 
cessary relations,  405 ;  mind  the 
only  possible  power,  40S ;  influence 
on  Hume  and  Kant.  409;  sensible 
universe  a  constant  miracle,  409  n. ; 
compared  with  Hume  and  Kant, 
4c8-t  5 ;  his  speculation  as  a  whole, 
415.  416;  Description  of  the  Cave 
of  Dunmore,  503 ;  Tour  in  Italy, 
5 1 3,  ef.  n. ;  his  Sermons,  598 ;  Visi- 
tation Charge,  650;  Address  on 
Confirmation,  657. 
Berkeley,  Mrs.  Anne,  her  family,  150; 

Berkeley,  Mrs.  Eliza,  authoress  of  pre- 
face to  Monck  Berkeley's  poems, 
359,  cf.  B. 

Berkeley,  Capt.  George,  311,  cf.  a. 

Berkeley,  Rev.  George,  htnTi,  308 ; 
matriculated  in  Christ  Church,  335; 
writes  to  Bishop  Seeker,  354;  to 
Dr.  S.  Johnson,  ib,;  vicar  of  Bray, 
356;  marries,  359;  prebendary  of 
Canterbury,  360 ;  D.D.,  ib. 

Berkeley,  George  Monck,  360  ;  pre- 
faccto  hispoems,e,  8,  g  ir.,  logn., 
150  n.,  307  a.,  35511.,  363  n.,  38a  n., 
301  B.,  Jio».,  3a5«-,  JSon- 

Berkeley,  Henry,  born,  163 ;  referred 
to,  334  n.,  336. 

Berkeley,  John,  bom,  337,  cf.  ■. 

Berkeley,  Julia,  bom,  359,  cf.  a. 

Berkeley,  Lucia,  buried  in  Rluxle 
Island,  188. 

Berkeley,  Sir  Maurice,  7,  cf.  ». 

Berkeley,  Ralph,  3,  9,  325  a, 

Berkeley,  Richard,  i5t. 

Berkeley,  Dr.  Robert,  9,  »8o,  aSi, 
ci.H.;  his  wife  dies,  319,  335. 

Berkeley,  Rowland,  9,  335  a. 

Berkeley,  Sarah,  bom,  361. 

Berkeley,  Thormas,  9. 

Berkeley.  William,  father  of  the 
Bishop,  I,  5;  his  parentage,  5-'7 ; 
his  family,  8,  cf.  a.,  9 ;  his  wife, 
aunl  to  Gen.  Wolfe,  8  ;  changes  of 
residence,  B,  cf.  «. 

Berkeley,  William  (son),  bom,  347, 
cf.  n. ;  died,  335. 

Berkeley,  William(brother),  1 1  J,  jafl. 

Berkeley,  Rev.  William,  curate  of 
MIdleton,  381  n.,  181  n. 


66% 


INDEX. 


Berkeley,  name,  how  spelt,  3  n, 
Berkeley  of  Stratton,  Lord,  6,  7,  54, 

55,61. 
Berkeley  papers,  ix,  33,  50  «.,  159  »., 
170  «.,  235  ».,  338  fi.,  344,  350  «., 
35511.,  356x1.,  369,  386  «.,  331  »., 

340  ».»  353  «. 
Berkeleys,  untitled,  in  Ireland,  8. 

Berkeleys  of  Dysert,  3,  cf.  «.,  5,  7. 

Berkeleys  of  Skark,  7. 

Bermuda  scheme,  Berkeley's,  de- 
scribed in  a  letter  from  Swift  to 
Lord  Carteret,  203 ;  its  origin  in 
Berkeley's  mind,  103  ;  his  Pro- 
posal, 104 ;  reasons  for  choosing 
Bermuda,  ib, ;  subscriptions  for, 
107  ;  endowment  sought  out  of  the 
purchase  money  of  St.  Christo- 
pher's, 108,  135;  charter  procured, 
108 ;  Bishop  of  London  Visitor  of 
the  College,  and  Secretary  for  the 
Colonies  Chancellor,  ib, ;  charter 
passes  the  seal,  113;  allusions  to, 
in  the  correspondence  of  the  time, 
118-119,  141  ;  majority  in  the 
House  of  Commons  for,  135;  King's 
warrant  for  the  grant,  138;  retarded 
by  death  of  George  L,  141 ;  charter 
renewed  by  George  IL,  146;  en- 
dowment withheld,  170;  Berkeley 
begins  to  despair,  183 ;  why  opposed 
by  Walpole,  185. 

Bermudas  or  Summer  Islands,  105 ; 
Shakespeare  on  the,  ib, ;  Waller 
on  the,  105  n, 

Berrington,  Simon,  author  of  Gau^ 
dentio  di  Lucca,  352,  cf.  «. 

Beseglia,  543. 

Billy,  Jean  de,  500,  cf.  «. 

Black  well.  Principal,  of  Aberdeen, 
84^.,  153;  his  pupils,  153  w.;  upon 
Berkeley,  153  it. ,  327  w. 

Blampignon,  Abb4,  74  ». 

Blasters,  Society  of,  354,  255,  256. 

Blind,  the  bom  blind  cannot  imagine 
space  as  we  do,  434. 

Bodies  exi§t  in  a  twofold  way,  489. 

Bolingbroke,  Lord,  65,  71,  308,  250; 
letter  to  Swift,  118;  on  Alciphron, 
203. 

Bolton,  Archbishop  of  Cashel,  conse- 
crates Berkeley,  338. 

Bonaventura  Cavalieri,  496,  cf.  ». 

Borghese  villa,  visited,  515. 

Borghese  palace,  visited,  530. 

Bossuet,  277  «. 

Bouillet,  John,a  French  physician,  265. 


Boyle,  Eari  of  Burlington  and  Coii, 
91. 

Browne,  Dr.  Jeromet,  384,cf. «.,  340. 

Browne,  Dr.  John,  13  «. 

Browne,  Dr.  Peter,  Bishop  of  Cork 
56,  234,  cf.  «. ;  Provost  of  Trinity 
College,  17;  pamphlets  against 
drinking  of  healths,  18  ;  aipmient 
against  Toland,  199;  criticises  Al- 
ciphron, 199,  333,  df.ff. ;  his  theory 
of  analogy,  199 ;  his  body  exhumed, 
334  ». 

Bruce,  Rev.  Jonathan,  359. 

Brundisi,  547,  548,  cf.  it. 

Burlington,  Lord,  103,  104. 

Bumaby,  Rev.  Andrew,  describes 
Whitehall,  165  «. 

Burnet,  Bishop,  533  n. 

Burthogge,  Dr.  Richard,  dimly  antici- 
pates Berkeley  and  Kant,  44. 

Butler,  Archer,  on  Berkeley  and  the 
logic  of  physics,  407. 

Butler,  Dr.  Joseph,  Bishop  of  Durham, 
109,  308 ;  correspondence  with  Dr. 
Samuel  Clarke,  60 ;  in  London,  90 ; 
analogy,  300,  336,  cf.  «.;  his  death, 
338,  cf.  «. 


C. 


Calais,  66. 

Calvin,  John,  Berkeley  upon,  160. 

Campbell,  Principal  George,  153  a. 

Canusium,  540. 

Capitol,  visited,  531. 

Carnot,  226. 

Caroline,  Queen,  208 ;  fond  of  meta- 
physics, 109 ;  gets  Berkeley  nomi- 
nated Dean  of  Down,  209;  her 
death,  256. 

Carr,  Dr.  Charles,  228. 

Carteret,  Lord,  77  ;  letter  of  Swift 
to,  102,  cf.  If.;  patron  of  Francis 
Hutcheson,  104  n, 

Cartesian  theory  of  colours,  489. 

Cartesians,  421. 

Castlemartyr,  230. 

Castle  Mary,  230. 

Caulfield,  Richard,  234  a. 

Causality,  its  meaning,  365,  366  a.; 
physical,  invariableness  of  succes- 
sion, 375,  407. 

Causality,  objectivity  based  on,  491. 

Causation,  De  Motu  an  essay  on,  85. 

Cause,  its  various  meanings  and  con- 
sequent ambiguity,  180,  465;  distin- 
guished from  occasion,  430,  456. 


Cave  of  Cloyne,  i]j,  cf.  n. 

CavE  of  Dunmore,  50),  cf.  h.  ;  caUed 

DeaiT-Feama,  504  »■ 
Certainty,  how  reached,  455,  454. 
Cestius,  sepulchre  of,  visited,  515. 
Chandler's  Life  of  Dr.  Samuel  john- 

-Chirge,  VistlatioD,  650. 

Chemical  composition,  446. 

Cbesterfietd,  Earl  of,  joi,  joj,  cf.  n., 
J09. 

Cheyne,  Dr.  George,  415. 

Chubb,  Thomas,  150, 

Clarke,  Dr.  Samuel,  89,  log,  108 ; 
receives  a  copy  of  the  Principles, 
45 ;  criticism  of  Berkeley's  prin- 
ciples, 46 ;  deification  of  space,  47 ; 
meets  Berkeley,  59  ;  his  discourses, 
60 ;  brought  in  contact  with  Butler, 
ib. 

Clarke  and  Collier,  63. 

Clarke  nnd  Leibnitz,  109. 

Clayton,  Dr.  Robert,  Bishop  of  Cork, 

I4S,  cf.  B.,  I49i   171,  1 84,  ZQ%  IJ4; 

Essay  on  Spirit,  J14. 
Cloyne,  Berkeley  nominated  bishop  of, 


village  and  diocese  described,  li. ; 
described  by  Bishop  Bcnnet,  i}i, 
cf.  H.;  traditions  of  Berkeley  at, 
an- 

Coghm,  Dr.,  3  17. 

Colt,  Dr.,  168  n. 

Coldien,  Cadwallader,  p?  n. 

Coleridge,  501. 

College  studies  of  Berkeley,  ji  suq. 

College  in  Bermuda  ;  lee  Bermuda. 

Collier,  Arthur,  Clavis  Universalis,  63  ; 
his  coincidence  with  Berkeley,  ib. ; 
his  letter  to  Clarke,  63. 

Collins,  Anthony,  Discourse  on  Free- 
thinking,  jS ;  ridiculed  by  Swill, 
lb.;  attacks  Archbishop  King,  ib. 

Colour  and  resistance,  394. 

Commonplace  Book,  Berkeley's, 
throws  light  upon  his  early  life,  10, 
48S,  503  ;  college  lire  reflected  in, 
17,  419  n\  mathematical  observa- 
tions in,  iS :  first  appearance  of  his 
new  principle,  »9 ;  extracts  from, 
JO  sqq.;  names  of  philosophers 
mentioned  in,  35  ;  contains  jottings 
for  the  Elssay  on  Vision  and  the 
Principles  of^  Human  Knowledge, 
44  ;  quoted,  379,  387  n. ;  described, 


Common  sense,  455. 
Conceivable  things,  classified,  4S4, 
Coniirmation,  Address  on,  657. 
Connallan,  Mr.,  5  n. 
Connor,  Chancellorship  of,  desired  by 
Berkeley,  J09, 


Conterini,   a    college   companion    of 

Berkeley,  t7,  cf.  n. 
Conybeare,  Bishop,  338. 
Cork,  city  of,  130, 
Comer, '  Elder,"  describes  Berkeley  at 

Rhode  Island,  164. 
Cot.,  Rev.  Marmaduke,  319,  cf.  n. 
Cot,  Sir  Richard,  365. 
Creed,  Mr,,  of  Cloyne,  133  a. 
Crousaz,  J.  P.  de  86. 
Crowe,  Bishop,  133. 
Cumwan  field,  588, 
Custom,  Hume's  theory  of,  ]6g,  40], 

408,410. 
Culler,  Dr.  Timothy,  t6j,  185, 186. 

D. 


Daniel,  Richard,  made  Dean  of  Down, 

Darwin,  377. 

Deans,  rural,  387,  zBS. 

Death,  Berkeley  on,  1 8 1 ;  of  Berkeley, 

De  Quinccy  on  the  death  of  Male- 
branche,  731. 

Dcs  Cartes,  lo,  45,  74.  '78>  j6»i  J^J. 
584,  458.  459.  460.  461,  510;  bis 
cogito  ergo  sum,  454. 

Desire,  not  will,  440,  441. 

DeVries,  467- 

Dialogues  between  Hylas  and  Philo- 
nous,  a  popular  exposition  of  the 
Principles,  61 ;  dedicated  to  Lord 
Berkeley  of  Siratton,  ib. ;  made 
converts,  63;  mentioned  in  Acts 
Eruditorum,  ib. 

Diocletian's  baths,  visited,  534. 

Discourse  to  Magistrates  and  Men  in 
Authority,  147;  its  occasion,  35]  ; 
its  effects,  154,  cf.  n. 

Distance,  what  it  is  to  see,  396 ;  can 
it  be  touched?  400;  is  the  meaning 
of  certain  visually  given  phenomena, 
401 ;  visible  and  tangible  hetcro> 


664 


INDEX. 


geneous,  470;  not  immediately  per- 
ceived, 481. 

Dorset,  Earl  of,  209. 

Dromore,  Berkeley's  connection  with 
deanery  of,  94. 

Dualism,  Berkeley's,  39. 

Dublin  in  a.d.  1700,  15. 

Dublin  Journal,  Faulkner's,  264. 

Dunmore,  Cave  of,  503,  cf.  ». 

Duration,  468. 

Dysert  Castle,  birthplace  of  Berkeley, 

3»5. 

E. 

Edinburgh  Metaphysical  Society,  dis- 
cusses Berkeley's  philosophy,  224. 

Education,  Jesuits  and,  534. 

Edwards,  Jonathan,  a  pupil  of  John- 
son, 182 ;  defends  the  Berkeleian 
principle,  182,  cf.  n. ;  a  slave  owner, 
187  n. ;  distinction  between  fancies 
and  real  things,  381 ;  on  our  idea 
of  space,  405  n. 

Error,  in  the  will,  461. 

Elsquiline,  Mount,  visited,  526. 

rrfpov,  tA,  366  «. 

EiJer,  226. 

Euston,  Lord,  284,  cf.  n. 

Evans  of  Miltown,  Colonel,  259. 

Existence,  ancient  philosophers  igno- 
rant of  what  is,  31 ;  is  percipi  or 
percipere,  velle  or  agere,  422; 
what  is  its  meaning,  429 ;  no  idea 
of,  447. 

Extension,  visible,  395,  419  ;  tangible, 
395;  resolvable  into  points,  421; 
does  not  exist  apart  from  sense 
qualities,  422 ;  visible,  423 ;  coloured, 
4  29 ;  a  mode  of  some  sensible  quality, 
451 ;  dependent  on  perception,  467, 
cf.  n, ;  a  sensation  or  phenomenon, 
468  ;  mathematical  propositions 
about,  true  in  a  double  sense,  47 1 ; 
is  continuity  of  solid,  472 ;  tangible, 
the  object  of  geometry,  474 ;  con- 
sists of  homogeneal  thoughts  co- 
existing without  mixture,  478 ;  a 
distinct  co-existence  of  minima, 
490. 

F. 

Faith,  its  function,  439,  cf.  ». 
Falkland,  Viscount,  279. 
Fardella,  472,  cf.  n, 
Famese  palace,  visited,  517. 
Ferrier,  Prof.,  seems  to  misconceive 
a  doctrine  of  Berkeley,  466  «. 


Ficinus,  Marcilius,  500,  cf.  n. 

Fire  philosophy  in  Siris,  295 ;  in 
Richard  Barton,  295  n, 

Fricento,  565. 

Flaxley,  Berkeley  at,  115. 

Fleury,  Cardinal,  282,  cf.  n. 

Foot,  Dr.,  509. 

Forster,  Dr.  Nicholas,  150,  228;  pre- 
sents Berkeley  for  ordination,  47. 

Forster,  John,  Berkeley's  father-in- 
law,  150. 

Foulis,  edition  of  Plato,  327  a. 

France,  condition  of,  in  last  years  of 
Lewis  XIV.,  68. 

Freind,  Dr.  John,  60. 

Freind,  Dr.  Robert,  60,  82  a. 

G. 

Garth,  Dr.,  224. 

Gaudentio  di  Lucca,  The  Adventures 
of,  ascribed  to  Berkeley,  251 ;  edi- 
tions of,  251  n. ;  real  authorship, 
252,  cf.  n. 

Gay,  the  poet,  60,  88  a.  ;  writes  about 
Berkeley,  202 ;  his  death,  208. 

Genera  and  species  not  abstract  ideas, 
436. 

General  ideas,  no  abstract,  420. 

Gentleman's  Magazine,  denies  that 
Berkeley  was  chaplain  to  Duke  of 
Grafton,  92 ;  on  Berkeley  in  Rhode 
Island,  166  n. 

Gervais,  Dean,  21,  259,  cf.  n.,  261, 
281 ;  see  Letters. 

Giannoni's  History  of  Naples,  271, 
cf.  w. 

Gibbon,  Edmund,  340,  cf.  n. 

Gibson,  Bishop  of  London,  186,  cf.  «., 
208,  235  «.,  236  w. ;  favours  the 
Bermuda  scheme,  1 1 1 ;  thanks  Ber- 
keley for  the  Analyst,  238;  set 
Letters. 

Gilman,  Mr.,  of  Yale  College,  176. 

Giovanessa,  543, 

Grafton,  Duke  of,  100, 

Graves,  Rev.  James,  503  ». 

Gravina,  559. 

Grey,  Dr.  Zachary,  163. 

Gualtieri,  Cardinal,  514. 

Guardian,  essays  of  Berkeley  m  the, 

57. 
Guilt,  defined,  181. 

H. 

Hall,  Dr.  John,  Vice-Provost  of 
Trinity  College,  18. 


INDEX. 


665 


Halley,  Dr.,  223,  224. 

Hamilton,  John,  Dean  of  Dromore, 

loi  n, 
Hamilton,  Sir  W.,  404  n.,  409  if. ;  on 

immediate  ^perception,    383 ;    on 

sensation   and  perception,   396  n, ; 

law  of  conditioned,  493  n. 
Hardwicke,  Lord  Chancellor,  351. 
Harley,  Earl  of  Oxford,  119. 
Hartley,  343, 
Harvard  College,  donation  of  books 

from  Berkeley,  195  if. 
Hazard,  Rowland  G.,  158  n. 
Hegel,  413,  414;  doctrine  of  space, 

368  «. 
Helsham,  Dr.,  219. 
Hervey,  Lord,  202. 
Hinton,  Dr.,  i,  2,  13. 
Historical  Register,  account  of  Ber- 
keley's departure  for  America,  152. 
Hoadly,  Bishop,  109,  202,  208,  212. 
Hobart,  Rev.  Noah,  162. 
Hobbes,    Thomas,   of   Malmesbury, 

363,  459>  460,  462,  463. 
Hodges,  Dr.,  Provost  of  Oriel,  341, 

cf.  n. 
Hodgson,  Shadworth   H.,  on  space, 

488  n, 
Honeyman,  Rev.  James,  of  Newport, 

155,  159. 
Home,  Bishop,  338,  cf.  «, ;  360. 

Hume,  his  phvsical  causality  anti- 
cipated by  Berkeley,  43,  425  it. ; 
referred  to,  45,  362,  367,  368,  378, 
408,  410,  cf.  If.,  412;  his  writings, 
343 ;  thought  Berkeley's  n^ethod 
sceptical,  366,  cf.  n. 

Hutcheson,  Archibald,  1 38,  cf. )?. 

Hutcheson,  Francis,  104  it. 

Huxley,  377. 

Huygenius,  505. 


L 


Idea,  defined,  421  if.,  422,  445,  cf.  n, ; 
gives  intuitive  not  symbolical  know- 
ledge, 485  If.,  486. 

Idea,  of  sense,  constituents  of  real 
things,  32 ;  abstract,  33 ;  their  ar- 
chetypes, 176;  how  used  in  Siris, 
296 ;  no  general,  420 ;  of  sense  how 
archetypes,  461. 

Idea,  and  sensation,  498. 

Identity,  doctrine  of,  448. 

Identity,  exists  only  in  persons,  480. 

fmokilly,  barony  of,  described,  230, 
246. 


Inductive  methods,  374  19.,  407. 

Infinitesimals,  421. 

Inistiogue  Records,  3  «.,  7. 

Instinct,  Berkeley  on,  406  n. 

Intellect,  pure,  unintelligible,  460. 

Ireland,  social  condition  of,  engages 
the  attention  of  Berkeley,  205,  242; 
famine  and  epidemic  in  1732,  261, 
266. 

Ischia,  575  ;  government,  57^-577  ; 
clergy,  578 ;  customs,  579-582 ;  har- 
bour, 583 ;  baths,  585-587, 

I  taly.  Journal  of  a  Tour  in,  8  2 ;  Journal 
described,  512  if. 

J. 

James,  Sir  John,  151,  153,  346,  266; 
his  intention  of  joining  the  Roman 
Catholic  communion,  269;  Berkeley 
dissuades  him,  ib, ;  dies,  380,  cf.  it. 

Jekyll,  Sir  Joseph,  171  «. 

Jerome  of  Prague,  275, 
ewell's  Defence  of  the  Reformation, 

375. 

Johnson,  Bishop,  233. 

Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel  (of  England), 
his  criticism  of  Berkeley,  368  n. 

Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel,  of  Stratford, 
says  that  the  scenes  in  Alclphron 
are  copied  from  Rhode  Island,  167 ; 
visits  Beii:eiey  in  Rhode  Island, 
174 ;  visited  England,  and  saw 
Pope,  ih,\  adopted  Berkeley's  phi- 
losophy, ib, ;  Dr.  Chandler's  Life 
of,  174  If.;  his  Elementa  Philoso- 
phica,  175  If.;  letter  of  Berkeley 
to,  on  archetypes,  space,  and  the 
passivity  of  the  soul,  177  ;  letter  of 
Berkeley  to,  on  change,  cause,  and 
the  first  mover,  179  ;  Jonathan 
Edwards  a  pupil  of,  183  ;  made 
D.D.  of  Oxford,  321  if, ;  President 
of  King's  College,  New  York,  33a 
If, ;  his  sons,  3  2  3,  cf.  ii. ;  correspond- 
ence with  Berkeley,  337;  corre* 
spondence  with  Lieut.-Gov.  Colden 
about  Berkeley's  philosophy,  327 
n.;  published  his  Elementa  Philo- 
sophica,  343,  355;  see  Letters. 

Jones,  Sir  W.,  on  Hindoo  Philosophy, 

375  ». 
Jurin,  Dr.,  339. 

K. 

Kant,  Immanuel,  referred  to,  176  n. ; 
343,    408  n,,   409;    his  regulative 


666 


INDEX. 


ideas,  177  »•;    on  Berkeley,  368; 

doctrine  of  space,  368  «.,  402  ». ; 

antinomies,  493  n, 
Kant  and  Hume,  412. 
Keill,  Dr.  John,  493»  cf.  «.,  494>  497, 

cf.  n, 
Kennet,  Basil,  chaplain  at   Leghorn, 

69,  276. 
Kilcrin,  reputed  birth-place  of  Ber- 
keley, I,  3,  4»  cf.  n, 
Kilkenny,  14,  506. 
Kilkenny  School,  i,  2,  11,  cf.  w.,  12, 

229. 
King,  Archbishop,  endowed  a  Divinity 

Lecture  in  Trinity  College,  17;  a 

theologian,  21,  loi. 
King,  Lord,  iii  n. 
Knowledge,  454. 


L. 


Lagrange,  226. 

Language,  all  visible  phenomena  an 

interpretable,  33 ;  abuses  of,  435. 
Lecce,  Corpus  Christi  day,  549;  li- 
braries and  churches,  5 50-551  • 
Leghorn,  Sermons  preached  at,  605. 
Leibnitz,  363 ;  on  distinction  between 
dream  life  and  waking  life,  380; 
differential  calculus,  495. 
Leslie,  Dr.  Charles,  209,  cf.  n. 
Letters : — 
Benson,  Bishop,  to  Berkeley,  on  the 
probability  that  the  Bermuda  en- 
dowment will  be  withheld,  170; 
about  a    House  of  Lords   case 
with   regard  to  tithes,  237  ;   on 
deaths  of  Lord  Chancellor  and 
Primate,  250;  on  Queen  Caro- 
line's death,  &c.,  256;  on  rural 
deans,  287 ;  on   prevailing  cor- 
ruption of  morals,  332. 
Berkeley  to   Rev.  Mervyn   Arch- 
dall,  329. 

—  to  Benson,  on  death  of  his  son 
"William  Berkeley,  325. 

—  to  Mr.  Clap,  President  of  Yale 
College,  324,  327. 

—  to  Mr.  Dalton,  on  his  marriage, 
266. 

—  to  Colonel  Thomas  Evans,  259. 

—  to  Dean  Gervais,  260 ;  advises 
him  to  drink  tar- water,  281 ;  on 
musical  parties  at  Cloyne,  284, 
288;  congratulatory,  on  deanery 
of  Tuam,  289 ;  on  politics,  290, 
304,  311 ;  on  the  gout,  303,  333. 


Berkeley  to  Sir  Thomas  Hanmer, 
on  tar-water,  298. 

—  to  Sir  John  James,  describing 
Cloyne,  246;  on  Mr.  Dalton*s 
marriage,  268;  dissuading  him 
fh)m  joining  the  Roman  Catholic 
communion,  269. 

—  to  Dr.  S.  Johnson,  on  arche- 
types of  our  ideas,  space,  and  the 
passivity  of  the  soiil,  177 ;  on 
change,  cause,  and  the  first  mover, 
179  ;  announcing  departure  from 
America,  188;  about  books  for 
Yale  College,  221 ;  about  attacks 
on  by  Bishop  Browne  and  Andrew 
Baxter,  222 ;  about  intercourse 
with  dissenters,  341 ;  about  Ame- 
rican missions  and  Yale  College, 
345 ;  speaking  of  ill-health,  358; 
about  Colleges  of  Yale  and  New 
York,  321,  326. 

—  to  Robert  Nelson,  describmg 
his  life  as  chaplain  to  the  Lord- 
Lieutenant,  93. 

—  to  Pope,  complimenting  him  on 
the  Rape  of  the  Lock,  70;  on 
his  translation  of  the  Iliad,  73 ; 
describing  neighbourhood  of 
Naples,  82 ;  on  interview  with 
Abb^  Salvini,  84. 

—  to  Thomas  Prior,  account  of 
journey  to  Paris,  66 ;  account  of 
journey  across  Mont  Cenis,  67 ; 
account  of  condition  of  France, 
69 ;  about  the  Bermuda  scheme, 
no.  III,  112,  113-118,  123,  135, 
127,  138, 142,  145,  146, 163, 183; 
about  troubles  arising  from  the 
Vanhomrigh  legacy,  no,  111,112, 
113-118,  120,  121,  126,  129,130, 

i3i»  i33>  135,  136,  14a,  i44i  1*2, 
172,  204,  206,  209 ;  about  the 
business  of  the  deanery  of  Derry, 
124, 125,  128,  129,  130,  133,  i35» 
148,  172,  204,  206;  denies  re- 
port of  his  marriage,  134 ;  about 
securing  a  house  in  Dublin  where 
he  can  have  strict  privacy,  i43> 
144,  148,  149;  about  death  of 
George  I.,  145 ;  announcing  his 
marriage,  and  his  companions  to 
America,  151;  describing  New- 
port, 160;  prefers  Rhode  Island 
to  Bermuda,  163  ;  picture  of  life 
in  Rhode  Island,  173;  proposes 
to  settle  in  Ireland,  204, 210,  311; 
about  making  dissenters  justices 


INDEX, 


667 


of  the  peace  in  Ireland,  204 ; 
about  a  list  of  Papists  and  Pro- 
testants in  Ireland,  305,  306,  307  ; 
desire  to  get  Chancellorship  of 
Connor,  209;  first  hint  of  Ana- 
lyst, 310;  about  bishopric  of 
Cioyne,  211,  313,  3T3,  314,  3i6, 
319,  220,  227  ;  about  the  Querist, 
247,  307;  describes  industry  at 
Cioyne,  248,  308 ;  describes  use 
of  rosin  in  epidemics,  363,  264 ; 
experiments  on  tar- water,  363, 
398,  300 ;  upon  distress  in  Ire- 
land, 365,  366 ;  on  politics,  385 ; 
on  soldiers'  clothing,  306;  Earl 
of  Chesterfield,  307 ;  specula- 
tions in  meteorology,  311,  314; 
about  the  primacy,  310,  313,  313, 
315;  speculations  in  natural  his- 
tory, 316;  describing  thunder- 
storm at  Cioyne,  320,  cf.n. ;  about 
an  edition  of  Plato  by  Foulis  of 
Glasgow,  327. 

Berkeley  to  Smibert  describing 
Cioyne,  240. 

—  to  Wolfe,  367. 

Berkeley,  George  (the  son),  to 
Archbishop  Seeker,  354. 

Browne,  Bishop  J  emmet,  to  Ber- 
keley, 340. 

Forster,  Bishop,  to  Berkeley,  on 
Berkeley's  speech  in  Parliament, 

255. 
Gibson,  Bishop,  to  Berkeley,  thank- 
ing him   for  the  Analyst,   238; 
upon  attempt  to  repeal  the  cor- 
poration and  test  oaths,  344. 
Grey,  Dr.,  to  Dr.T.  Cutler,  describ- 
ing Berkeley  at  Rhode  Island,  163. 
Momington,  Lord,  to   Mrs.  Ber- 
keley, 353  «. 
Pope  to  Berkeley,  89. 
Seeker,   Archbishop,  to  Berkeley, 
335;  to  Mrs.   Berkeley  on  her 
husband's  death,  353. 
Swift  to  Lord  Carteret,  describing 
the  Bermuda  scheme,  103. 
Lewis,  Sir  G.  Comewall,  353  «. 
Locke,   his    Essay    introduced    into 
Trinity  College,  30 ;  his  influence 
on  Berkeley,  34;  treatises  on  go- 
vernment, 48 ;   on  abstract   ideas, 
177  ;   does  not  rightly  distinguish 
will  from  desire,  440 :   his  maxim, 
457;  referred  to,  45,  363,  384,  406, 
439,  433,  433,  434,  436,  437,  444, 
446,    449,  450»    451,   45a    ».,    454, 


457,  458,  460,  461,  462,  465,  473, 
473,  475,  479,  480,  487,  491,  494, 
498. 

Locke  and  Malebranche,  74. 

\6yoiy  the,  or  inward  light,  274  ». 

Loyola,  531. 

Lyons,  67. 

M. 

Maclaurin,   Colin,    engaged    in    the 

Analyst  controversy,  340. 
McSparran,  Rev.  Dr.,  161,  cf. «.,  162. 
Madden,  Dr.  Samuel,  21,  150,  cf.  n.; 

edits  the  Querist,  242 ;  founds  the 

Dublin  Society,  243,  cf.  n. 
Magnitude,  476. 
Magrath,  the  Irish  giant,  335  ». 
Malebranche,   Berkeley  proposes  to 

visit,   67;   story  of  death  of,  73; 

referred  to,  30,  176  «.,  334  «,,  363, 

384,  421,  435,  459,  461,  467,  484, 

486,  488,  490. 
Malebranche  and  Berkeley,  74. 
Mansel,  Dean,  383. 
Markham,  Archbishop,  338,  cf.  «. 
Martin,  Dr.,  2  n. 
Martin,  Murdoch,  explored  Western 

Islands,  66,  cf.  «.,  506. 
Masham,  Lady,  55. 
Massy,  M.,  86. 

Mathematical  necessity,  397  n. 
Mathematical  studies  of  Berkeley,  36, 

210. 
Mathematicians,    Berkeley's     attack 

upon  the,  224;  an  argiimentum  ad 

hominem,  225. 
Matter,  unperceivable  and  unperceiv- 

»ng,  364,  365. 

Maury,  M.  Alfred,  86, 

Mead,  Dr.,  82  iv. 

Midleton,  230. 

Mill,  Mr.  J.  S.,  388  «. 

Mind,  bodies  exist  independently  of 
our,  428;  a  congeries  of  percep- 
tions, 438 ;  always  thinks,  444 ; 
.  neither  volition  nor  idea,  464. 

Minima  visibilia  and  tangibilia,  395. 

Minimum  visibile,  471,  485. 

Miscellany,  Berkeley's,  342,  cf.  n, 

Mola,  546. 

Molyneux,  Samuel,  56;  Berkeley's 
pupil,  53 ;  presents  Berkeley  to  the 
Princess  of  Wales,  72. 

Molyneux,  William,  19,  416  n.,  469. 

Monastic  life,  276. 

Monte  Sarki,  537. 


668 


INDEX. 


Moon,  problem  of  the  horizontal,  476, 
492. 

Morality,  two  great  principles  of,  430. 

Morality,  demonstration  in,  449. 

More,  Dr.,  491. 

Morgan,  Thomas,  M.D.,  265  n. 

Motion,  not  distinct  from  the  thing 
movable,  424 ;  visible  and  tangible, 
469. 

Motu,  De,  an  essay  on  Power  and 
Causation,  85 ;  an  application  of 
the  Principle  to  sensible  changes 
and  causation,  ib, ;  prepared  at 
Lyons,  86 ;  may  have  been  pre- 
sented to  the  Royal  Academy  of 
Paris,  ib. 

Mountnay,  Baron,  304,  cf.  n. 


N. 


Naples,  Berkeley  at,  81,  8a,  84,  535  «. ; 
Kome  to,  568;  its  customs,  571- 

574. 

Narragansett,  155,  159, 161,  162;  Ser- 
mons preached  in,  629. 

Natura  naturans,  is  God,  1 80. 

Necessity,  mathematical,  397  n. 

Nelson,  Robert,  Berkeley  addresses  a 
letter  to,  93,  cf.  n, 

Newhaven  College,  179. 

Newport,  Berkeley  lands  at,  154 ;  de- 
scribed, 155;  religious  equality  in, 
157;  Berkeley's  house  at,  165; 
scenery  described  in  Alciphron, 
x68;  philosophical  society  of,  169; 
sermons  preached  at,  629. 

Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  referred  to,  20, 
226,  420,  441,  469,  497,  498;  doc- 
trine of  space,  177;  method  in 
natural  philosophy,  179;  theory  of 
aether,  295  «. 

Noetica,  by  Dr.  S.  Johnson,  175  «. 

Nore,  river,  4. 

Norris,  John,  the  Malebranchian,  20. 

Norris,  Sir  John,  291. 

Number,  476. 


O. 


Objectivity,    what,    395;    based    on 

causality,  4^1. 
Oglethorpe,  General,  67,  cf.  h.,  186  n, 
Oxford,  the  scene  of  an  ideal  life,  277  h. 
Oxford  Commemoration,  207. 
Oxford  scheme,  Berkeley's,  311,  334. 


P. 


Palliser,  William,  2 1 . 

Paradise  Lost,  translation  by  the  Abb^ 
Salvini,  71  n. 

Paris,  Abb6,  275. 

Parnell,  the  poet,  56,  60. 

Parr,  Dr.,  231. 

Particulars,  knowledge  is  not  of, 
merely,  446. 

Pascal,  his  Deus  absconditus,  199, 416. 

Pasquilino,  retained  to  teach  Ber- 
keley's children  music,  310  n. 

Passive  Obedience,  Discourse  on,  pub- 
lished, 48 ;  occasioned  by  Locke's 
treatises  on  government,  ih, ;  advo- 
cates high  Tory  principles,  ib. ;  con- 
tains Berkeley's  mor^  philosophy, 
49;  gave  rise  to  the  report  that 
Berkeley  was  a  Jacobite,  ib, ;  hin- 
ders his  advancement,  50. 

Pembroke,  Earl  of,  91,  cf.  ». 

Perception,  396;  Berkeley's  inune- 
diate,  of  extended  sensible  reality, 
383 ;  immediate,  is  adequate,  483. 

Perception  and  volition,  444. 

Person,  not  an  idea,  432, 

Personality,  371-373. 

Persons  only  exist,  ^69, 

Peterborough,  Lord,  Berkeley  intro- 
duced to,  63 ;  appointed  ambassa- 
dor to  the  King  of  SicOy,  64  ;  makes 
Berkeley  his  chaplain  and  secretary, 
ib. ;  commemorated  by  Pope,  64  «. ; 
referred  to  by  Berkeley,  69;  re- 
called, 71. 

Petitio  principii,  in  the  common  theory 
of  matter,  370, 

Phenomena,  how  used  in  Siris,  99^- 

Platner,  observations  on  the  bom 
blind,  404. 

Plato,  176  H.,  366  ».,  376;  proposed 
edition  of,  by  Foulis  of  Glasgow, 
327  n. 

Pliny,  on  earthauakes,  319. 

Plotinus,  276,  cr.  n. 

Pococke,  Bishop,  288  it. 

Pomfret,  Earl  of,  141. 

Pooley,  Bishop,  230. 

Pope,  55 ;  a  friend  of  Berkeley,  5^ 
89 ;  on  Lords  Bathurst  and  Bur- 
lington, 9 1;  on  the  Bermuda  scheme, 
119  ;  publishes  Essay  on  Man,  308; 
mentioned  in  a  letter  from  Seeker 
to  Berkeley,  236  ;  his  enthusiam  for 
Berkeley,  349  n. 

Positivism,  36a,  368,  411. 


INDEX. 


669 


Power,  De  Motu  an  essay  on,  85. 

Power  and  volition,  450 

Practical  aim,  early,  of  Berkeley's 
speculations,  34. 

Principle,  Berkeley's  new,  29,  30,  31. 

Principles  of  Human  Knowledge, 
Treatise  concerning  the,  an  assault 
on  scholastic  abstractions,  40 ;  de- 
velopes  the  theory  latent  in  the 
Essay  on  Vision,  ih, ;  only  first  part 
published,  42  ;  anticipates  the  Co- 
pemican  point  of  view  of  Kant, 
43-44  ;  theory  of  physical  causality, 
43  ;  a  challenge  to  the  philosophical 
world,  45 ;  copies  sent  to  Clarke 
and  Whiston,  ib. 

Prior,  Matthew,  67,  cf.  «.,  89. 

Prior,  Thomas,  at  school  with  Ber- 
keley, II  ;  founder  of  Dublin 
Society,  11  ;i.,  242  ;  college  com- 
panion of  Berkeley,  2 1  ;  helps  Ber- 
keley in  business  difficulties,  109 ; 
his  List  of  Absentees,  183  ».;  in 
Dublin  when  Berkeley  was  conse- 
crated Bishop  of  Cloyne,  228;  ex- 
periments with  tar- water,  293  ;  his 
Authentic  Narrative  of  the  success  of 
tar- water,  309 ;  death,  329;  monu- 
ment to,  330,  331  «. ;  epitaph  by 
Berkeley,  331  ». ;  bust  of,  ib, 

Protagoras,  376. 

Qualities  of  matter,  primary,  434. 
Querist,  242 ;  edited  by  Dr.  Madden, 

ib, ;    Mackintosh    on   the,  243  n. ; 

third  part  published,  247  ;  advises  a 

national  bank,  249. 

R. 

Rabbe,  the  Abbe,  86. 

Ramsay,  the  Chevalier,  324  «. 

Rankenian  Club,  224  n. 

Raphson,  Ralph,  177,  462,  cf.  ;i.,  491. 

Rawdon,  Sir  John,  67,  265. 

Real  things  and  chimeras,  427,  449. 

Reality,  its  meaning,  365,  492. 

Reid,  Dr.  Thomas,  343,  cf.  «.,  388  ; 
immediate  perception,  383  ;  his 
relation  to  Berkeley,  385,  cf.  «. 

Resistance  and  colour,  394. 

Rhode  Island,  Berkeley  meant  to  go 
to,  on  his  way  to  Bermuda,  155  ; 
its  society,  158;  Berkeley  wishes 
to  found  his  college  at,  163  ;  pic- 


tures of  its  scenery  in  Alciphron, 

168. 
Roman  Catholic  clergy  and  Berkeley, 

321. 
Roman  Catholic  theology,  Berkeley's 

views  upon,  269  sqq. 
Roman  Catholics  of  Cloyne,  Letter  to 

the,  301. 
Roman  College,  visited,  534. 
Roman  literature,  modem,  518. 
Rome,  its  environs  visited,  530  sqq.  ; 

the  theatre  visited,  535. 
Rome  to  Naples,  568. 
Rose,  Archdeacon,  memoir   of   Dr. 

George    Berkeley,   Prebendary  of 

Canterbury,    356  ;    on    Berkeley's 

sermons,  595. 
Rosin,  used  in  epidemics,  163 ;  adver- 
tised in  Faulkner's  Dublin  Journal, 

264. 
Rostellan,  230. 
Rugge,  Henry,  214. 
Ruin  of  Great  Britain,  Essay  towards 

preventing  the,  88. 
Rundle,  Bishop  of  Derry,  235  ». 


S. 


Salaries  in  Trinity  College,  53  «. 

Salvini,  Abb€,  translates  Milton's 
Paradise  Lost,  71. 

Scaliger,  498. 

Scepticism,  refuted  by  Berkeley's 
principle,  31. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  on  the  correspond- 
ence between  Swift  and  Mrs.  Van- 
homrigh,  99. 

Scriblerus  Club,  57. 

Scriblerus  Club  and  the  Bemnruda 
scheme,  106. 

Seeker,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
friendship  for  Berkeley,  90 ;  college 
friend  of  Bishop  Butler,  ib,\  at 
Durham,  171 ;  made  D.D.,  207  n. ; 
rector  of  St.  James's,  Westminster, 
208  ;  Bkhop  of  Bristol,  335  ;  made 
Bishop  of  Oxford,  250,  cf,  h.;  at 
Cuddesden  when  Berkeley  at  Oxford, 
338-339;  hissister married  to  Bishop 
Benson,  339  h.  ;  sympathy  with  Ber- 
keley's family,  352;  translated  to 
Lambeth,  352  n. 

See,  what  it  is  to,  399. 

Sensations,  what  are,  370,  371 ;  mere, 
impossible,  371;  actual,  intermittent, 
373  ;  different  from  sensible  things, 
ib, ;  signs  of  other  sensations,  374 ; 


670 


INDEX. 


substantiality  in  material  woHd  is 
co-existence  of,  375. 

Sensations,  invariableness  of,  developes 
space,  407. 

Sensations  and  ideas,  498. 

Sense  ideas,  are  real  things,  32. 

Sense-realism  of  Berkeley,  386. 

Senses,  not  to  be  despised,  434. 

Sensibles,  common,  396  n. 

Sergeant,  John,  463,  cf.  n. 

Sermons,  preached  in  Trinity  College 
Chapel,  598 ;  preached  at  Leghorn, 
605 ;  skeletons  of,  preached  at 
Newport  and  in  the  Narragansett 
comitry,  629. 

Shakespeare,  quoted,  105. 

Sherlock,  Dr.,  Bishop  of  Bangor,  89, 
109;  shows  Alciphron  to  Queen 
Caroline,  208. 

Sibbald,  Sir  Robert,  506,  cf.  n, 

Sicily,  Berkeley  in,  84. 

Simon,  James,  309,  cf.  n.,  315. 

Simon,  T.  Collyns,  409  n. 

Siris,  393;  popularity,  294;  to  be 
compared  with  earlier  works,  ib,\ 
Berkeley's  philosophy  developed  in, 
296;  was  Berkeley's  last  word  in 
speculation,  297 ;  French  transla- 
tion of,  330. 

Skelton,  Rev.  Philip,  criticises  Aki- 
phron,  199  If. 

Smalridge,  Bishop,  62,  102. 

Smibert,  Mr.,  the  artist,  132,  cf.  ».^ 
142;  accompanies  Berkeley  to 
America,  J51,  153;  settled  in 
America,  189,  cf.  ».;  his  portrait  of 
Berkeley  in  Yale  College,  189. 

Smith,  Adam,  340,  cf.  n. 

Space,  177 ;  derived  from  universah'zed 
sense  impressions,  401 ;  developed 
from  invariableness  of  sensations, 
407  ;  material,  what,  422 ;  imagined 
by  the  bom  blind,  424 ;  eternity 
and  infinity  of,  449 ;  Kant's  doctrine 
of,  488  «.;  Hodgson's  doctrine  of,i^. 

Speech,  is  metaphorical,  479. 

Spenser,  quoted,  4. 

Spinoza,  324  «.,  363,  462,  464. 

Society,  a  college,  founded  by  Berke- 
ley, 23. 

Society  of  Edinburgh,  Royal,  224  «. 

Society  in  Edinburgh,  a  metaphysical, 
discusses  Berkeley's  principles,  224. 
Solidity,  472,  475. 
Sommers,  Sir  George,  105. 
Soul,  is  passive  as  well  as  active,  177  ; 
complex,  477. 


South  Sea  scheme,  made  Berkeley 
turn  his  attention  to  social  economf, 
87;  effects  ofon  the  morality  of  the 
people,  ib, ;  undertook  the  respon- 
sibility of  the  national  debt,  87; 
referred  to,  242. 

St«  Canice,  cathedral  of,  506  n, 

St.  Colman,  cathedral  of,  230. 

St.  Peter's,  visited,  519,  525. 

Steame,  Dr.  John,  329,  cf.  n, 

Steele,  Sir  Richard,  edits  the  Guar- 
dian, 57,  208. 

Stevenson,  Prof.,  of  Edinburgh,  224. 

Stewart,  Dugald,  on  Baxter,  222 ;  on 
the  early  influence  of  Berkeley  in 
Scotland,  224. 

Stillingfleet,  Bishop,  431  n.,  449,  450. 

Stirling,  Dr.  Hutchison,  388  n^  408  «. 

Stock,  Bishop,  Berkeley's  biographer, 
4, 14  "•>  59>  73  «.,  99f  cf. ».,  150,  208, 
224,  228,  262  ».,  337  ».,  338,  344  «., 

347  «. 

Stopford,  Bishop,  at  Cloyne,  252  n. 

Substance,  not  removed  by  Berkeley's 
principles,  31,  431;  physic^  what 
is?  431  ».;  Locke  on,  440,  cf. «.; 
discu^ed,  450. 

Substantiality  in  material  worid,  co- 
existence of  sensations,  or  pheno- 
mena, 375. 

Succession,  468,  471. 

Swifl,  introduces  Berkeley  to  Lord 
Berkeley  of   Stratton,   6,   54;  at 
Kilkenny  school,  13, cf.».;  at  Trinity 
College,  17 ;   introduces    Berkeley 
at  Queen  Anne's  court,  54;  made 
Dean  of  St.  Patrick's,  55  ;  extracts 
'  from  diary  to  Stella,  ib. ;  introduces 
Berkeley  to    Lord   Peterborough, 
63;  writes  to  Lord  Carteret  about 
Berkeley,    77 ;    verses    on    South 
Sea  scheme,  88  ». ;  friend  of  Lord 
Pembroke,    91 ;     writes    to    Gay 
about  Berkeley,  95;  his  connection 
with  Mrs.  Vanhomrigh,  96  ;  writes 
to  Lord  Carteret  about  Berkeley's 
Bermuda  scheme,  102 ;  letter  from 
Bolingbroke,  118;   Gulliver's  Tra- 
vels,   119;    revisits    England,   ih,\ 
letter  from  Gay  to,  202 ;  quits  Eng- 
land for  ever,  208  ;  at  St.  Patrick's 
when   Berkeley  consecrated,  229; 
his    patriotism,    243 ;     intercourse 
with  Berkeley  at   Cloyne,  243  «.; 
death,  304  «. ;  on  Berkeley's  theory 
of  matter,  368  n. 
Sydenham,  Dr.,  303. 


INDEX. 


671 


Synge,  Dr.  Edward,  Bishop  of  Cloyne, 
&c.,  21,  146,  147,  209,  212,  214, 
215,  219,  220,  227. 

T. 
Talbot,    Charles,    Lord    Chancellor, 

138,  Cf.  H.,  217,  Cf.  H.,  250,  Cf.  If. 

Talbot,  Miss,  359,  cf.  n. 

Tarantula  spider  and  dance,  82,  51 3  »., 

541,  544»  545i  552-553»  555,  55^, 
560. 
Tar-water,  used  in  the  epidemic  of 
1739,  3^2;  Berkeley  had  seen  it 
used  in  America,  ih,\  experiments 
with,  263,  293;  Dean  Gervais 
advised  to  drink,  282;  Berkeley 
thinks  it  a  panacea,  292  ;  interest 
it  excited,  294,  cf.  ».,  309,  cf.  1. ; 
verses  on  drinking,  297,  299 ; 
Prior's  tract  upon,  309,  322 ;  Berke- 
ley's correspondence  about,  323. 
Tarentimi,  554,  555,  cf.  «. ;  environs 

visited,  556-558. 
Terracina  to  Rome,  592. 
Thing,  meaning  of  the  term,  449. 
Tighe,  Mr.,  History  of  Kilkenny,  3, 4. 
Time,  a  succession  of  ideas  consti- 
tute,  177;    measured  by  flow  of 
ideas,  439  ;  referred  to,  468. 
Toland,  criticised  by  Bishop  Browne, 

199. 
Townshend,  Lord,  108. 
Trani,  542. 

Tribunal  of  the  Eletti,  57  J. 
Trinity  College,  i,  2,  16 ;  salaries  in, 
5  3  ». ;  Archbishop  King's  Lecture- 
ship, 94  ». ;  Hebrew  Lectureship,  95 
n, ;  three  junior  fellows  of,  induced 
to  accompany  Berkeley  to  America, 
104;  Berkeley  proposes  to  throw 
it  open  to  Roman  Catholics,  243 ; 
Berkeley  gave  medals  for  Greek 
and  Latin  to,  329,  330  n. 
Trinity     College     Chapel,     sermon 

preached  in,  598. 
Truth,  three  kinds  of,  446. 
Tuam,  wardenship  of,  214. 
Turin,  67. 

U. 

Ueberweg,  charges  Berkeley  with  a 

petitio  principii,  370  h. 
Uhlius,  Sylloge,  202  «. 
vXi;,  366  n. 

Unity  not  a  simple  idea,  435,  472. 
Updike,  Colonel,  an  intimate  friend 


of  Berkeley,  159  ». ;  member  of  the 
Philosophical  Society  of  Newport, 
169. 

Updike,  Ludovick,  heard  Berkeley 
preach,  159. 

Updike,  Wilkins,  his  History  of  the 
Episcopal  Church  in  Narragansett, 
154  ;  description  of  Berkeley's 
arrival  at  Newport,  ib, ;  account  of 
Berkeley  in  Trinity  Church,  159; 
account  of  Rhode  Island  society, 
ib,  IV.;  Berkeley's  farm,  164  ii. ; 
on  Berkeley's  verses  on  America, 
168  ».,  245  If. 

Ursini,  Cardinal,  his  library,  538. 

Utilitarianism,  theological,  Berkeley's, 

49. 

V. 

Vanhomrigfa,  Mrs.,  57 ;  Berkeley  and 
Swift  dine  with,  60,  96;  died  in 
1723,  96;  her  connection  with 
Swift,  96,  97  IV.;  bequeathed  her 
property  to  Bishop  Berkeley  and 
Dr.  Marshall,  97  ;  her  will,  ib, ;  her 
correspondence  whh  Swift,  99 ; 
her  legacy  occasion  of  business 
troubles  to  Berkeley,  no,  in,  11  a, 
1 1 3-1 1 8,  119,  120,  121,  126,  129, 
1J0-131,  133,  135,  136,  141. 

Vatican,  Berkeley  examines  the  MSS. 
in  the,  78. 

Vatican  gallery,  visited,  512. 

Venosa,  561. 

Verses  on  America,  BeAeley's,  103. 

Verses  on  drinking  tar- water,  297, 
299. 

Vesuvius,  eruptions  of,  described,  78, 
588. 

Vesuvius  and  £tna,  589. 

Vindication  of  Theory  of  Vision,  203. 

Vision,  Essay  towards  a  New  Theory 
of,  36 ;  applies  the  Berkeleian  prin- 
ciple to  sight,  not  to  touch,  37  ;  has 
been  misinterpreted,  ib,\  its  chief 
qusetion,  ib, ;  its  theory  of  the  uni- 
versal and  divine  language  of  the 
senses,  38 ;  second  edition  in  year 
of  publication,  40. 

Visitation  Charge,  650. 

Visual  language,  393. 

Volition,  comes  gradually  into  the 
mind,  442. 

Volition  and  perception,  444. 

Volition  and  power,  450. 

Voltaire,  on  Berkeley,  368  ii. 

Vulgar,  Berkeley  on  the  side  of,  420. 


67a 


INDEX. 


Wainwright,  Baron,  210,  214,  215, 
218)  228^  237. 

Wallace,  Rev.  Dr.,  224. 

Waller,  Battle  of  the  Summer  Islands, 
105  n. 

Wallis,  Dr.,  428,  463. 

Walpole,  Sir  Robert,  promises  an 
endowment  for  the  Bermuda  Col- 
lege, 108 ;  occasions  failure  of  the 
Bermuda  scheme,  186 ;  referred  to, 
119,  139,  284,  cf.  n, 

Walton,  engaged  in  the  Analyst  con- 
troversy, 240. 

Warburton,  Dr.,  202 ;  on  Baxter,  222. 

Ward,  Rev.  Dr.,  of  Derry,  123,  129, 

134. 
Warton,  quoted,  106. 

Wetherby,  Dr.,  210. 

Whiston,  on  Berkeley,  45. 

Whitcombe,  Archbishop,  34 1,  cf.  n. 

Whitehall,  Berkeley's  farm  and  house, 

164,  165,  cf.  If.,  i66< 


Wilkes,  John,  3^7  «. 

Will,  is  it  acted  on  by  uneasiness,  421; 
the  soul  is,  428 ;  is  not  desire,  440, 
441 ;  is  power,  442 ;  no  idea  of,  445 ; 
is  purus  actus,  462. 

Wise,  Dr.  Thomas,  283  «. 

Wolfe,  Mr.,  266. 

Wolfe,  General,  336,  337  h.  ;  on  Ber- 
keley's death,  337  ». 

Woodward,  Dr.,  on  stalactites,  511, 
cf.  n. 

Worcester,  Bishop  of,  440  n. 

Word  to  the  Wise,  A,  320. 

Y. 

Yale  College,  Johnson  graduated  at, 
174;  possesses  portrait  of  Berkeley 
by  Smibert,  189;  scholarships  in, 
founded  by  Berkeley,  192,  194  ». ; 
deed  of  conveyance,  193  «. ;  dona- 
tion of  books  to,  194,  cf.  ».,  207, 
221;  referred  to,  163, 176,  192,  245, 
323,  324,  cf.  ».,  326,  327,  cf. ». 


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3  bios  010  loq  541 


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Stanford  University  Libraries 
Stanford,  California 


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m      1985